People often remark that I must have great self-discipline to be a writer. In general I have all the self-discipline of a gnat. I'd love to be able to say something along the lines of: "I'm at my desk at 7 a.m., work through until lunch, eat a light chicken salad, then back to my desk until early evening when I take a leisurely stroll to ruminate on my day's work. . ."
But this is how it goes: one eye prises open at approx. 7.15 - first cup of coffee and a silent nuzzling session with my young daughter, who is also monosyllabic early in the day. Second cup of coffee at around 7.45, both eyes open - standing up! Then it's roars and barks all round as myself, son and daughter head off merrily on the school run. I return - third cup of coffee. Think about writing - start cleaning instead. On a good day I can clean for sub-continents. As it is not a large house, this takes no little measure of arithmetic on my part. Thankfully, there is always a bundle of washing. Wash clothes, dry clothes, put away clothes. Fourth cup of coffee, followed by first pang of guilt. Assuaged for moments as I get on the phone to bother people who are really working.
Finally, finally - trudge upstairs to office. Watch leaves growing on trees on far side of field behind our garden. Switch on computer. Look at fitness book opened at "warm-ups" since the late 1980s - brief mental battle - the computer wins. A couple of hours writing, or more often than not, rewriting, then a stop for mug of tea, cheese and tomato sandwich and a Twix. It hardly ever varies. Back to the desk until it's time to pick up the kids and usually that's it for the day. Occasionally I'll go back to work in the evening but that's rarely effective because they won't let me alone. Bribes only buy an hour at most.
I can catch up at weekends if I'm working to a deadline on something. But the truth is I really do wonder how things get done at all, half the time. I must be quick or something, when I get down to it. I do envy people who can be ruthlessly single-minded about what they do. But that must bring its own pressures. I heard someone say the other day, that they work to "an organic timeframe". So there you have it - the new age term for dossing.
Sometimes I think it would be nice if someone just sent you the cheque. Just a cheque, every month, lying there on your doormat - for nothing at all. But I suppose this is where that elusive self-discipline or motivation or whatever comes in, because I'd still write. I wouldn't know what else to do. And there's always consolation in the fact that, while I might not be Virginia Woolf, I'm pretty damn certain that at least I have the cleanest house in London.
Kate O'Riordan's novel, The Angel in the House, is published this month by Flamingo. £9.99 in UK