Housework and Hope

I love hoovering, but I hate housework. What has this to do with writing? I hear you ask? Well, I'm not sure either but bear with me, because I'm convinced that it does. Housework is doing the skirting boards, the inside of the lampshades, checking the paintwork and looking up to see that yes, really your fine cobwebs would not be amiss in hammer house of horror. Hoovering is clearing up a few crumbs you can see and pushing the rest under the sofa with last week's newspapers. I love writing, I even love the rewriting, the check through for crumbs of enlightenment, the bon mot that was lovely originally and now looks untidy - it's hoovering, you just sweep it away to moulder in a spare folder. Housework is the editing bit, the fine tooth comb work, the, really this needs redecorating or even 'let's just move, try a new house/book.'
I'm hoovering.
Skimming over the surface just enough so I can get on with the main event - the creative bit.
I've got an outline, of sorts and enough of the first draft still unsullied by red pen to work with and I'm ready to start. I may even have a title, although I'm hugging that to myself at the moment, I want to live with it for a few days/weeks before I let it out.
I'm hopeful about this book, I don't mean that I think it'll get published, but I do think it is finally going to get written. It has taken years to reveal itself to me and I finally feel that if anyone asks me what it is about, I can tell them without having to use powerpoint, a flip chart and six pages of footnotes. All I'm going to say right now is it is about ghosts.
What better day to think about things coming back from the dead...Happy Easter.