Ah now, this I recognise...

[desperance]

Up betimes this morning, and staring at the screen, at the story, thinking "Huh? What was I thinking? Why can't I write like other people, damn it? Nobody's going to care about this..." and so on, till I went downstairs to drink coffee with nothing done at all, because I can at least do that.

And then back up here and more sitting & staring, and nothing doing; so I laid a trap for myself, I took myself into town with a flask of coffee and the LHP.

And behold, if I sit in the Silence Room and am good, and have no internets, I can still write a thousand words in an hour, which always used to be my standard. Technically I already knew I still could, because on my hols a couple of weeks back I had a day in Oxford, in coffee shops, pretending I was mizkit; I wrote five thousand words that day, before jemck came to save me from myself. But there wasn't anything else I could do that day, burdened with a heavy bag and all; they wouldn't even let me into the Ashmole.

Here, of course, the isolation is fictitious, but it does still work. I had half a mind to replenish my stock of coffee and stay another hour. Instead, I wandered home via the shops and spent fifty quid on stuff I really didn't didn't really need. Luggage, a kettle... You know. I do have these things. But now I have new ones! And Barry can sit in the luggage, and Mac can sit in the kettle-box! Also, there are mushrooms. I didn't really need mushrooms either, but who could resist the allure of watching Mac chase 'em across the dining-room? Nom-nom-nom!

And I have a thousand words before lunch, which is like a thousand runs in May, a fine start to the season. And later on I get to cut someone's head off, which is always fun.