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My husband flew home yesterday after a few days’ holiday, leaving me at the top of a Swiss mountain with a car and a cupboard of word-count-based rewards:

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Last night, in preparation for an early start, I set up my “desk” on the dining table:

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And this is my view from that seat – out of the balcony over the treetops.  Pretty enough to be a rest for the eyes, but not busy enough (apart from the small, darting birds chasing insects) to be distracting:

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Interestingly, as I have been anticipating the start of my retreat, my mind has been working ahead of me subconsciously, and over the past few days my husband has become used to me saying suddenly, “Don’t talk to me – pass a scrap of paper” as I scribble down another idea.  In fact, the whole ending of the book (or at least, the ending at the moment) changed yesterday, which is rather exciting, as I always like to have something of a twist.  So my work folder is now stuffed with Post-Its and bits of paper from wherever I could find them, including receipts and torn-up cardboard packets.  All I need to do now is get writing, so I’ll do just that.

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