No fancy writing today. I've just started a cold, and I don't feel mentally sharp.
It's a day of routine tasks at home, so far as I feel like doing them, and if necessary I'll say 'mañana', and not worry about any job not done. To best endure a cold, one needs to rest, stay in the warm, drink a lot, eat well, and sleep, sleep, sleep if nature tells you to.
At least it's bright and sunny, and at some point I may stir myself to brush out and wash Fiona, or totter around the village. Or maybe not. We'll see.
So today, all I'm dishing up is a statistic.
At the end of every month I update a spreadsheet that keeps track of how many words I've published on my blog so far, analysed by month and year. After four complete years, a landmark grand total has now been passed.
Up to 28 February 2013, I'd published (in almost 830 posts) a total of 523,886 words. This figure includes the words in the nine posts I took down two months ago (the posts that caught the attention of our chums at GenderTrender, and a few more that I thought in retrospect had ventured into strange places that I didn't really want to go). I don't know how many photographs I've also published to illustrate my posts - two or three hundred I'm guessing - but the word total alone seems worth remark. Obviously I love to spray the world with my verbal paint, even if it isn't done with the artistry of Banksy.
Half a million words, though. An average of 125,000 or so each year. Which means that if (and it's an unlikely if, of course) I'd had the talent and stamina, I could have been churning out an annual Harry Potter or Fifty Shades of Grey. You may be thankful that I haven't tried. And indeed I'm relieved to be simply the dilettante author of a little-known blog - and not the slave to a publisher who cannot give me any rest.
I can tell you, I'd hate to be sitting brain-dead today at my PC, with a runny nose, and feeling obliged to produce another 1,000 wonderful words by lunchtime. Just to meet a book-publishing deadline. How awful.