I thought writing novels from home was the dream

Days had gone by when I realised I hadn’t left my house. I had got up every morning and showered, hit my desk to write a couple of thousand words, had leftovers for lunch, welcomed the children back from school, made dinner for everyone, then went to bed leaving my husband working downstairs. I hadn’t spoken to anyone but my family in days.

I used to chat with friends throughout the day, but now we all seem to prefer to text than phone. We leave messages underneath Facebook posts, and should one of us try to make plans, we never quite manage to synchronize diaries.

One of my dearest friends lives around the corner, and works for the International Animal Rescue. She works at home too. We text each other regularly saying ‘let’s meet for lunch’, but I am on deadline, or she is running to New York for a meeting and then I realise just how lonely I have become.

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