I have done a particularly uninspired piece of editing this morning, in my child-free slot while the little one slept and the others were busy. I don't think I'm going to be one of those writers who loves the editing process. The original writing is the part I really enjoy. And because I'm patching together new scenes with old scenes, I've lost the view of the 'big picture' that I had at first when I re-read my draft. But as a fabulous Southern flirt once said, Tomorrow is another day.
While I was writing, the four-year old was plumbing. He was in the home corner at nursery and decided the sink needed some work, so he climbed into the play cupboard, and fiddled with imaginary pipes until he'd had enough....at which point he discovered he was stuck. He cried for help, and Mrs N, ever professional in the face of pre-schooler disaster, encouraged him to get out the way he got in. Then she went to help, and found he really was stuck. He thought he would never get out.
'So did I, for a while,' said Mrs N.
But the joy of a visit from hunky firemen was denied; Mrs N, resourceful as well as professional, found her tool kit, and dismantled the cupboard, freeing my small boy.
He certainly seemed fine when I took him swimming. And, in the true nature of boys who never learn, he thought it would be fun to hide from me in a locker, and pull the door shut behind him...