Katrina nannestad biography
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There may even be a monkey. My writing focus is totally intact. I will grow petunias, nasturtiums and hydrangeas in my garden. Maybe my husband and the monkey make them. ‘Hmmm,’ I thought. You know, where the neuro-electrical currents in your brain surge and wake you with a wild and dangerous jolt of the legs. They’re a lot of work, you know.
And who were those kids who chose unflavoured milk? ‘It’s all about the shed,’ he said. We also drink lots of tea poured from teapots decked in daggy crocheted tea cosies and sup on home-grown vegetables and chocolate éclairs. We turned off the ignition, pulled out the key and ran around the carpark waving our hands in the air, uttering monotonic Danish expressions of panic, but still the engine ran.
Were the internet a mountain range, I might almost have climbed Everest.
5. I updated my tax.
6. I made a pot of coffee and ate an entire marzipan bar which I had bought as a gift for my husband. It does not rear its ugly head so very often in my study, but today, my schedule stuffed full with a new book release (Olive of Groves), a pending book release in the United States (When Mischief Came to Town) and a deadline (book 3 in the Olive of Groves series) I have hit a little bump in the road.
The fosbury flop and the scissor kick are particularly important if you want to succeed in life.
· When walking with scissors, point the tip of the blades down towards the ground.
Where are your dreams leading you?
NEXT WEEK:
Dust off your lamingtons.
Many a student has passed a boring ten minutes by chewing on their Perkins Paste lid. The nerdy glasses and the sedentary desk job are a cover for my real superhero identity - just like Clark Kent. But desperate times call for desperate measures, as Hippocrates or Bugs Bunny once said.
7. I wrote a blog (this one).
And has it worked?
Of course not!
So what next?
The truth of the matter is that I need to sit down at my computer, call up the offending chapter and … just … start … writing.
How simple is that?
For my block is, I suspect, nothing more than an overblown dose of procrastination driven by a wave of exhaustion.
And I wanted it to be something exotic and intellectual!
I still salivate whenever I see a trestle table.