Some days I don't know what to write. Somedays I look at this screen and it is filled with the expectant gaze of a parent waiting for you to achieve something of value.
This may be why the last couple of days have been filled with recommendations. I like to give you something of use. Days like today, I just don't have the juice.
(Although apparently, I do have the unconscious ability to rhyme, so all is not lost.....)
Other days I have more material than I know what to do with and I can't write any of it because it would probably cost me my friendships/new and delicious relationship with beautiful angel boy/family/professional future.
Ah, the road of the honest writer is filled with potential pitfalls. And reluctant silences.
Which I am somehow managing to turn into material. I'm making the absence of material, material. God, I hope you appreciate this.
The cafe is empty and it has been like this for about an hour. When you're overly familiar with public space, the temptation to treat it like private space becomes almost overwhelming. I realised this just now when I caught myself dancing like a lunatic to a rendition of These Are a Few of My Favourite Things in french - it was on FIP radio, a French internet station - try it, you might like it.
I forget firstly, that there are big open windows at the front of the Cafe, and secondly that people walk past them all the time.
Actually, as I write this, it begins to make sense why no one's come in.
I could take this opportunity to work on my Great British Novel for Young Adults, but that would be far too sensible. Instead I'm eating Frazzles (an addiction picked up from the previously mentioned beautiful angel boy - and would you Adam and Believe they're vegetarian?? Why would anyone make vegetarian bacon crisps? Well, actually, as I write that I realise because if there's anything I bet all veggies lie the most about missing it's bacon), listening to French radio and desperately resisting the urge to go on Facebook. Bugger.
Ok, that's it. Reading today's entry back is like an advert for Make Your Life a Lethargic Avoidance Trip (if I wrote that, could I actually sell it?). I'm off to work on the GBNYA. Disturb me when the publishers call and not before.