Penultimate chapter?


I enjoy tippex, not going to lie.
I write, you know; pen, paper, longhand, or should I call it PROPERLY!!! How is it longhand? it’s writing, it’s NORMAL. How did Dickens, Shakespeare, Yates, etc etc write if not properly? Imagine using a quill and ink!
Actually, one day, when I’m in my proper dotage, not the enforced one I’m trying to extend before the real one starts, I might try that. I can see me in a wooden cabin, proper fire, coffee, perhaps a tot of whiskey, brandy, vodka… sat up to a bureau with my quill and a proper olde worlde inkwell, sheafs of parchment, a candle burning, writing poetry.
I’ve only just begun writing poems but not like those Keats, Colwell love treaties, mine are more contemporary sort of mixed up hippity-hoppity style like the badass mutha I am…apparently.

Anyway, as usual, I’ve gone off subject.
I reached the 34th chapter of what I reckon will be a 35-chapter book this evening. Started writing early, went to the beach, wrote a bit, sunbathing, snack, coffee, wrote a bit, stretched a bit, wrote a bit more, coffee etc etc. came home, shops, food, tv, wrote a bit more and here we are; finally!
The vinegar strokes are usually quite good. Generally they write themselves although I tend to draw things out as much as possible. No-one enjoys a premature ending do they?
I know what the last chapter is so it’s only really this one that I’ve got to think too much about but as usual I’ll just smash it off my wrist and correct it if it needs it. I don’t do a lot of rewriting though, the basics are there, just a few odd changes of words, tense, full stops for commas, that sort of thing.
Oh and NEVER: EVER: a period.
I’m English, there is no such thing.
It’s called a full stop by the people who invented the language others bastardise; got that? Good.
Anyway, it’s quite exciting. I’m glad to be over, or nearly, with it.
The cupboard is bare, the brain full of cotton, apathy forbids me from doing any more after this one.
A break from the novel; fail…novel; fail, sequence is needed.
Perhaps a ‘proper’ job?
Absolutely not-a-chance.


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