Giving up, heading off...

[desperance]

Okay: it's half-past four, I've made two passes through this bloody story and cut two and a half thousand words, and I can't stand it nor this house any longer. It's absurdly early to be setting off for a gig that doesn't start till seven, but I may possibly be a little nervous about this evening. 'Specially with the fog sitting on the city, putting people off. (This drives me wild: we book the gig out early and draw up a waiting list for cancellations, but generally people don't bother to cancel, they just don't turn up on the night. It's no cost to them, as we don't charge upfront for tickets; and of course then it's too late to call in the waiting list, so we always have empty seats in a booked-out gig. It could be worse than usual tonight, with the weather anti-driving. Snarl.)

Nevertheless, I think I'm off. I shall go in at the top end of town and make my way down through the shops, that'll eat some time; and I'll take the proofs of Shelter with me, to give me something quiet and not-story to do until six, when they'll let me start helping to put chairs out and such.

Who'd be an impresario...?

Comments

[devonellington.livejournal.com]

How'd it go? I bet it was brilliant.