By the time I get in from work, go for a run, have dinner, have bath, mooch around on Facebook, there's no time left for writing, hence not adding words to the page this evening. There's always tomorrows commute, though. Fragments of Horror is, though, turning into one of those things that needs frequent binges, frequent space, so having writing free days is healthy. I was a bit surprised (can one be a bit surprised?) though to discover that no work of fiction was awarded a Pulitzer this year, announced today. I had been looking forward to being introduced to maybe another Tinkers (I still love that book - I must re-read it). Or maybe I'll have to stop depending on waiting for prize winners to be announced and find my own winners! I took a module in Prizes and Politics on my BA in English Lit whilst I was at Westminster. I can't really remember what I learnt - something about the politics of prize, ergo module title! Ok, I'm rambling now. I tell you what I would like to see soon though - a new novel from Willy Vlautin. Instead I read today of the hoo-haa around the London Book Fair (I've never been) and the brace of six-figure twelve-way auction battles for 'amazing' debut novels. Pass me the salts and the pity pot! Apart from the story of Paul Harding's Tinkers - and the perfectly poignant Pulitzer-winning prose that one wanted to linger inside - there was the backstory of how it struggled to find a publisher at all. I know. I've posted about it before. But he wrote that on a highly acclaimed MFA - and tried for two or three years to find a publisher who would take it before finding a home for it with a Brooklyn non-profit. It warms my heart. Oh well. For that, read 'what Belinda wishes for her own book'!) Onwards.