Mmph

[desperance]

It's, oh, 6.45 or thereabouts. Evening-time. Knocking-off time: time to leave all this, and start to think about dinner, and TV or radio or books; or going out, finding friends; you know. That stuff. Non-writing life.

But I'm going out for dinner, I do not need to cook; and I'm not going out till half-past eight or later. I could do more work. I have written two thousand words today, but still I could do more.

And I'm halfway down a bottle of wine, and I could drink more: which might encourage more working, or it might do the other thing, encourage stopping, reading, something. And I might not care about that, either way. Which would be fine, but if I drink the rest of the bottle, I might be less than stellar company for my friends tonight.

But if I stop - stop working and stop drinking, both - then what on earth will I do for the next couple of hours? This is one of the sudden stark truths of my life, apparently: that without work, or drink, or cooking, I am bereft. I don't know what to do.

Comments

[dedbutdrmng.livejournal.com]

When I have spare time I like to sniff my books and imagine I run a second hand bookstore.

I'm ill and don't get out that much.

I don't think it shows though.

[desperance.livejournal.com]

Doesn't show at all. Trust me on this.

Just yesterday, a mistype - I cannot apparently type 'bookshop', it always comes out 'bookship' [and yes, it did this time too, but I corrected it] - led me to fantasise about buying an old ferry and fitting it out as a floating secondhand bookshop and taking it all over. I think it would be my perfect life.

Also, I remember a whole radio conversation - ran for weeks, on a weekly programme - about sniffing cats, but let's not go there...

[dedbutdrmng.livejournal.com]

My other half describes the smell of cat as 'the most comforting, clean, happy, warm smell in the whole world'. I agree with her on that.

Bookship is a brilliant word but conjured up a rather less fun image in my head. "I've been aboard this Barbara Cartland novel for eight weeks and I've still not got used to the smell of urine and poodle faeces."

[julesjones]

And people wonder where writers get their ideas from.

I read this and immediately had a mental image of a mobile library, wandering from planet to planet, in the way that the library bus serves rural villages here and now...

[shewhomust.livejournal.com]

Oh, I love that bonus time when I don't have to go and cook - and there's a treat at the end of it, seeing friends and eating food and drinking drink: but then, I find it really hard to work in the afternoon, so stopping time is often the time when I'm just getting started again, and don't want to stop.