Day in the Life of Jessica Hart

JESSICA'S DAY: IDEAL VERSION

5.00 am. Leap joyfully out of bed and write for two hours before strenuous work out at gym.

9.00 am. Back at computer after healthy breakfast and continue writing without a break until time for a frugal lunch - a couple of lettuce leaves and low fat yoghurt, perhaps.

2.00 pm. Walk dog briskly and marvel at how invigorated I feel.

3.00 pm. Settle down to work again, interrupted only a call from editor to say that everybody loves my books and that I'm up for innumerable prizes and awards. Respond with suitable modesty, but don't allow myself to be distracted for more than five minutes.

6.00 pm. Finish required number of words and switch off computer, smug in the knowledge that am on schedule to complete book by agreed deadline and that The Object of My Affections is on his way from London, clutching vast bunch of flowers, possibly with a little jewelled something secreted about his person, just to throw himself at my feet.

JESSICA'S DAY: REAL VERSION

8.30 am. Stumble blearily downstairs and realize that going to gym would mean going out without washing hair or putting on make up (clearly unthinkable) - or having to do it all over again later, which would obviously be a shocking waste of writing time. Retire back to bed with tea instead. Resolve to make real progress - at least 3000 words - and not fritter day away on displacement activities.

10.00 am. Switch on computer. Open document. Screen terrifyingly blank. Check email instead. No messages. Back to chapter. Screen still blank. Paint nails (thinking time). Screen even blanker.

11.00 am. Contemplate vacuuming sitting room but decide writing still preferable to housework. Type a line. Delete line. Ring friend and discuss heroine's outfit for key scene (research). Rewrite line.

11.30 am. Walter, a tabby with extremely large paws, waltzes over keyboard. Depressed to realise that he has written more than I have. Remember ISP notoriously unreliable, so check email again, just in case it didn't work properly last time. No messages. Exasperated with self for falling for man who actually believes that you shouldn't waste work time on personal emails (I know, how unheroic is that???)

12.15 pm. Stare out of window and realise that writing career is over. Envisage future, selling house, giving away dog to someone who can afford to keep him, admitting to family and friends that am complete failure. Suitably panicked, write a page.

1.0 pm. Phew! Time for lunch. Remind self that need lots of energy to write and that to start diet in middle of book would be self-defeating. Allowed game of Scrabble on computer on grounds that any thinking about words must be good thing.

2.30 pm. Think about going back to work, but opt to walk Mungo instead. Convince self that dawdling along river is actually giving brain a chance to process ideas and therefore essential part of working day.

3.45 pm Back home, check email again. Still no messages. Nobody loves me. Nobody wants to get in touch with me. Nobody ever reads any of my books anyway so why am I bothering? Consider alternatives. Go back to staring glumly at screen. Eventually squeeze out another paragraph.

4.15 pm Rewrite rigorous writing schedule, moving carefully allotted days per chapter back a week. Imagine how will feel when book completed, and devise suitable reward. A trip to Australia? To Paris? Remember bank account and try to think of something cheaper. All right, an evening in front of the television without feeling guilty. How fantastic would that be? Can't wait. Re-inspired, manage to get to end of second page.

5.00 pm Time for tea. Sit down with whatever book currently reading and marvel at how clever some writers are. Wonder if they spend their days faffing around like me. Decide that it's so good, might as well finish it.

6.30 pm. Feed dog and two cats, in spite of fact that not one of them is prepared to play role of loyal pet, sitting encouragingly on lap or adoringly at feet. About to stump back upstairs when friend appears at door and suggests going for a drink. Launch into explanation of how self-disciplined a writer has to be and that why can't possibly go anywhere until book finished. Friend waits patiently for me to agree 'just one'.

10.00 pm Return home after exhaustive discussion about TOMA and difficulties of maintaining long-distance relationship when one party stubbornly refuses to communicate every five minutes. Concoct another calorie-lade meal to absorb alcohol. Decide guiltily that it's too late to do any work, but had better make a few notes so can start early next day and make up for wasted time. Characters suddenly come to life, and write two and a half thousand words at full speed without even thinking. Feel exasperated at own inability to accept that am simply not designed to do anything useful during the daylight hours. Determine to change routine to take working pattern into account and allow self plenty of time to go to gym next morning.

12.30 am Somehow forget to set alarm for five o'clock and don't wake up until eight. Start process all over again.