Tuesday, 9th October

Tuesday, 9th October

Keyword for the Day: Odd

This morning I got up in the middle of the night, as usual. (How else do you think I have time to write this blinking diary every day?) According to the clock on the Virgin V+ box, it was 3.03 am when I trundled down the stairs for my night-time writing session. After a very pleasant half-hour on Facebook, talking to writing friends who live in places where the hour was far more civilised, I gave up my comfy armchair for the dining table, where I am in the middle of my final proof read of The White Cuckoo before the files get shipped off for their journey down the Amazon to find the lesser-spotted Kindle, and to the printers to get printed. First, though, I made a cup of tea.  Glancing idly at the digital clock on the radio/docking station in the kitchen, I noticed it was 3.33 am.

When I was writing The White Cuckoo, I scared myself half to death writing in the middle of the night. The story has a supernatural theme, although it is not the main focus of the plot, and while I was writing a particularly hair-standing-on-end scene – coincidentally set in that magical time between midnight and 6.00 am – something in the room fell down and I nearly jumped out of my slippers and dressing gown, so scared was I.  Of course, it was only the dog shifting on the sofa, and knocking something off, but it was enough to put the wind up me, I can tell you!

I started proof-reading and smiled, remembering writing the scene I was reading. I got to the precisely same part in the story that had scared me in 2008 when I was writing it.  Then … thwack … would you sodding well believe it – something  fell down – again – at exactly the place it had happened before. I froze, absolutely not daring to move.  Was it the dog again?  No … our soppy labrador, Zak, was motionless on the sofa, fast asleep.

Silence.

Tick, tock, tick, tock. All I could hear was my grandma’s old wall clock, which resides in our hall. I got up from the table and investigated, my heart thudding so painfully in my chest I thought I was about to have a heart attack. I couldn’t see what had fallen down. There was nothing on the floor, either in the living room or the hall, that I could see might have made the noise.

I pulled myself together and sat down to get on with my reading, glancing at the virgin box again. It was 4.03 am.  When I looked up from my reading again, it was 4.33. I made another cuppa, and settled down, sipping my tea, crashing on with the proof reading.  When I reached the end of a chapter, I looked up at the clock on the wall – it was just after five am.  5.03 to be precise.  How odd? Every time I checked the time it was either 03 or 33 past the hour.

This continued all day. 10.03. 12.33. 1.33 (when I glanced at the clock as I left my office for a lunch break). 3.03. 4.33. 6.03 (when I got home from work). 8.03 (when I finished Rob’s accounts and bank reconciliation ready for the accountant’s appointment tomorrow).

All day long the number three kept up its relentless assault on my sanity. After glancing at the clock at … 9.03 … I decided to look up the meaning of the number three on my I phone. This is what the number three means – and this is when it gets really scary!

Three: The spiritual meaning of number Three deals with magic, intuition, fecundity, and advantage. The number Three invokes expression, versatility, and pure joy of creativity. Three is also a time identifier as it represents Past, Present and Future. Consecutive Threes in your life may symbolize the need to express yourself creatively, or consider your present directional path in relation to past events and future goals. Three may also represent promising new adventures, and assurance of cooperation from others whom you may require help. Three typically symbolizes reward and success in most undertakings.

Blinking ‘eck!

Is this just a complete coincidence, or what? I don’t think I have ever needed my friends and family as much as I need them at the moment. I am relying on everyone to help me make The White Cuckoo the successful novel I believe it could be. I loved writing this book. It was one of the most magical times in my life, and all I want is for other people to enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing, editing, revising and proof-reading. There has only been one time I haven’t enjoyed because I have always had the uneasy feeling that something wasn’t right – and that is the past six months when my precious Cuckoo was in the hands of the publishers. Had I not travelled so far to sign the contract, and Emily and Lee taken time off to take me there, I probably would have backed out, so strong were the feelings that I might be doing the wrong thing.

I do know, though, that today has been a very odd day indeed.  I wonder what number I shall keep seeing tomorrow?

(By the way, on the kitchen floor I found one of the grandkid’s art creations that had fallen off the fridge, along with the magnet that held it there. Mystery solved!)

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