The joys of collecting, in two aspects

[desperance]

It's good to feel good before midday, to feel you deserve what comes to you. Right now, I'm positively cocky.

I was up betimes, and wrote a couple of pages of The Book That Dare Not Speak Its Weight, to finish off a chapter; then - because I am good, because I am the epitome of virtue - I didn't slump with a mug of coffee and something to read, no. I went into town, bought a couple of Danish (an Americanism, I know, but I like it) and a big mug of coffee, and went through the ghost story for Wednesday, hacking and chopping like a man at a hedge. I no longer hate it so much as I did, tho' it's still too long and all wrong for the venue & the occasion. It even has a first stab at a title now (most stories start with a title; the further they go without one, the harder it becomes to find the right one). At the moment, it's called "Summer's Lease".

And then I reckoned up what I'd done in the last forty-eight hours, which was about five thousand words of fiction, plus the reworking, plus about five minutes of the play; and I thought I was entitled to go home via bookshops.

So I found a book on Spanish and Moroccan, I suppose essentially Andalucian, cooking; and absolutely I do not need another cookbook, I cannot house these that I have, and I could cook a lifetime already without ever running out of new and interesting recipes; but I flicked through it, and it had new and interesting recipes, and...

Well, what it is, I start to bargain with myself, "you can come back and buy that after the gig on Wednesday, as a reward" - but as soon as I do that, I've acknowledged that I'm going to buy it sometime, so it might as well be now, and save the worry of its disappearing later.

So I did; and wandered on through town, and ended up at the Oxfam bookshop, source of occasional Chalet School books; and lo, a wonder! There are a few anthologies for girls, with Brent-Dyer stories in; and there it was, one I don't have, in fairly decent nick for four quid.

This wasn't even a negotiation, it was straight out with the purse and the book goes in the bag. These aren't exactly rare, and Abebooks makes it easy to find and buy them - but Abe steals away the pleasure of discovery: the startled disbelief, the sudden grab, the timorous opening to look at the price, the gasp of relief, the scrabble for the purse, all of that.

I am home and happy, and have started the next chapter. I am exhausted, but indefatigable. I am good today.

Comments

[wakaba-chan.livejournal.com]

That's tragic! You'll have to go around your family with a shotgun and demand your Heyers back. :)

[desperance.livejournal.com]

Easier to replace them, surely; then you don't risk getting bloody shot-holes in the books. Don't know about now, I've had them all for twenty years, but there used to be plenty second-hand. Penny, d'you know what you're missing? We could do a treasure-hunt...

[wakaba-chan.livejournal.com]

There are quite a few cool second hand bookshops that sell 'em - there's one in Grantham, one in Bath, and usually Oxfam Bookshops have a few lurking around. Failing that, there's always eBay!

...can you tell I'm obsessed? :)