Days that are not off

[desperance]

So yesterday I wrote my day's full ration and then some, two thousand words all in a morning (*is proud*), and then went out to meet Gail for sushi. And we sushi'd and drank green tea and miso soup, and it was all good (*is satisfied*). And then we went to the pub to meet up with the wonderful Kay who is the librarian at the Lit & Phil, to plan the literary & arty events for next Feb/March (the theme is "A Sense of Place", and I think we put together a pretty damn' fine festival, in a busy hour of batting ideas about)(*is accomplished*). And then, because Gail had said we should only have one bottle of wine as she has to give a lecture today, of course we didn't, and I remember nothing after the end of the third bottle (*is not so proud, satisfied or accomplished*).

And today I thought would be a grand candidate for a Day Off. I woke late, and my back hurts (what was I doing, post-pub...? There's no evidence around the house)(perhaps I was in someone else's house? It has been known...), and I'd finished my chapter yesterday and don't quite know where the next one should begin. And I have coffee to drink and books to read and cats to irritate, and I enjoy all these things; it ought to be enough.

And I went to the shops and bought peaches, to make a peach & rosemary & chilli chutney, which I am going to invent tomorrow; and on the way home I was thinking about the opening sentence of the book, and how I might have to lose it - and was instantly struck with more words, which might actually save it.

So no, not a day off after all. I shall go now and dabble with that line, and then doubtless I will start thinking about the new chapter, just to get it started, and...

Thing is, the book's three-quarters done (allegedly), and it's reached that stage where it's a weight on my shoulders, pushing me forward, and it's really, really hard to stop now.

Maybe that's what happened to my back? I do have terrible authorial posture, I can just see me throwing my back out by hauling around an overburden of book. Or staggering down the final slope towards the end, trying to slow down but the mass of book on my back is overtoppling me, and I try to dig my heels in and jar my spine and ouchie...

*decides to abandon metaphor before he tumbles head over heels and breaks his readers' patience utterly*

Comments

[athenais.livejournal.com]

I do wish you'd invite me over for that chutney. It sounds gorgeous.

Right, I know, a matter of several thousand miles, whatever.

[desperance.livejournal.com]

Well, see, if you'd stopped off on your way back from Finland...

(Really enjoyed the epistles from far-flung parts, by the way; glad you had such a good time, and thank you for sharing.)

[athenais.livejournal.com]

I know. It's sad. Didn't think ahead, really.

(Glad you enjoyed. I love reading travelogues, and love writing them. We managed some good food on this trip!)