The cruellest month

It’s one thing holing up to write when the weather is crap. I can do discipline in the winter. Easy. But the spring, or worse, summer? It’s really, really hard to keep one’s self-employed bottom on one’s ergonomic seat. (Sympathy please...) The sun starts shining, the park beckons, and I lose the necessary guilty gravitational pull. The moment I need sunscreen, I need a boss – any office sociopath will do – someone to micromanage good word count and caution me sternly for long al fresco lunches. All unfortunate timing really, considering that the deadline for my second novel is the end of June. So while the rest of the country yearns for sunshine, like a gardener, I’m willing rain.