In 13 weeks I’ve got a ticket back to Australia. Rather than count days I’m counting
words and pages at the moment finishing 10 000 words here or 30 pages there.
Having left the house I grew up in and be back in it after ten years living away, experiencing the environment is a spin out. There are notches on the bathroom door frame marking the inches I grew as a kid and the scent of the house is still somehow exactly the same, like cinnamon, fresh air, and the occasional waft of my mother’s perfume.
Yesterday I was laying on the floor in the same room where I was in a similar position around age seven or eight writing my first book about a little girl and her gaggle of monster friends.
I’m watching the leaves fall around me like sand in an hourglass – because once they’re gone it’s a giant step toward going back down under.
I’m not really sure about my further thoughts on this at the moment so rather than spin out about it I’ll keep writing eleven or twelve hours a day while I can.
Oh yeah, and I’m going into the city Thursday to play with CJ and chase people around the sidewalks (footpaths, if you will)…. don’t think I’ve forgotten about that…