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#stillwriting
Jun. 21st, 2018 09:48 amSo it turns out, when I access Writer Brain, I lose the ability to do anything else.
Having got my email inbox to a respectable state before I sat down, it's now spilling over again. My laundry hamper is in much the same condition. I found a dead bluetit fledgling in the garden yesterday; while it probably has more to do with the neighbour's cat, who I saw in our garden for the first time in months yesterday morning, I can't shake the idea that it's because we ran out of suet balls over the weekend and I didn't get to the shop for more until yesterday afternoon. (The seed feeder has remained stocked, but I only saw the baby bluetits on the suet. Oh god I've killed a bluetit.)
Lo these many years ago there was a song on Prairie Home Companion about how writers make terrible romantic partners. I thought I understood it then, but boy do I get it now. Every day I am more grateful to be single and not causing suffering to someone trying to have a relationship with me. (Apologies to existing friends who may be feeling neglected.)
BUT, on the other hand, I have finally got the Terra Nova past South Africa, after a great deal of effort and finding more and more things I had to cram in before they got there. I've got a week and a half now to get them to and through the pack ice, via New Zealand and THE STORM – I might just about do it, in a completely unpresentable rough draft, but having it laid out I can nibble at it analytically and somehow, somewhere, crowbar in the Samoyeds and Inuit dogs. Argh, the dogs! Always underfoot, but they are big fluffy foreshadowing machines.
So the Twitter block is going on, the sea shanty playlist revved up, and the takeaway menu getting pinned on the board. I hope to be back from 1910 in July. See you then.
Having got my email inbox to a respectable state before I sat down, it's now spilling over again. My laundry hamper is in much the same condition. I found a dead bluetit fledgling in the garden yesterday; while it probably has more to do with the neighbour's cat, who I saw in our garden for the first time in months yesterday morning, I can't shake the idea that it's because we ran out of suet balls over the weekend and I didn't get to the shop for more until yesterday afternoon. (The seed feeder has remained stocked, but I only saw the baby bluetits on the suet. Oh god I've killed a bluetit.)
Lo these many years ago there was a song on Prairie Home Companion about how writers make terrible romantic partners. I thought I understood it then, but boy do I get it now. Every day I am more grateful to be single and not causing suffering to someone trying to have a relationship with me. (Apologies to existing friends who may be feeling neglected.)
BUT, on the other hand, I have finally got the Terra Nova past South Africa, after a great deal of effort and finding more and more things I had to cram in before they got there. I've got a week and a half now to get them to and through the pack ice, via New Zealand and THE STORM – I might just about do it, in a completely unpresentable rough draft, but having it laid out I can nibble at it analytically and somehow, somewhere, crowbar in the Samoyeds and Inuit dogs. Argh, the dogs! Always underfoot, but they are big fluffy foreshadowing machines.
So the Twitter block is going on, the sea shanty playlist revved up, and the takeaway menu getting pinned on the board. I hope to be back from 1910 in July. See you then.
