Tuesday, 18 August 2015

How's the Writing Going?

“How’s the writing going, Karen?”


Well let’s see. Yesterday I rewarded myself for being able to remember the word ‘resilient’ without having to use the synonym doohickey in Word by having a chocolate. Then complimented it with some coffee. Then I checked Twitter. Read an article about library fines. Saw a photo of a highlighter that highlights in three different ways depending on how you angle the nib when you hold it. Thought, “My boss’d like that” so sent him the link. Read some emails, deleted some others.

See, I wasn't making it up.

Then my phone beeped as I was contemplating another chocolate before settling in to write some more.

“Film night Sat?”

“Yeh alright”

Friend and I then invented a new genre of film through inventive use of emojis. One of them we called Poisoned Prawns on Easter Island. That is a better title than anything I’ve given to anything I’ve written.


As I’m replying to share this observation and conceal my shame with #bantz as is my wont, another message comes through. It’s a gif of Rachel Riley. Which reminds me I’ve got 8 out of 10 Cats Does Countdown to catch up on. I get excited about that (<-- my life, everyone) and have trouble focusing on where I was. The music (Toadliquor, which I chose on Spotify’s recommendation purely for the name) is too loud. I nestle back down. The music’s too quiet. I get up again and twiddle the knob. Hurr.

I shit out an abortion of another line of prose, then decide I’m too warm. I struggle out of my dressing gown. Phone beeps again. I should really turn that thing off.

“Drinks? Friday?”

I wriggle out of my nest again to retrieve my diary.

“Aye sure ting”, I say, because that’s how I text. Innit.

Looking in my diary, I remember I’ve got a hospital appointment Wednesday. I thought I’d better see which bus I need to get and where, so I look that up and write in the relevant details, after I've finished throwing a fit about my inability to understand bus timetables on first glance.

Then I look at the clock and look at my word count and wonder what’s going on here. Then I decide that this is kinda sad but kinda funny so I write it up, and type 300 words in five minutes. 300 words of fiction earlier took me about an hour.

I think I’m better suited to fact.