Once in, I may stay some time. Unless the doorbell goes, or the phone. As soon as I step back into the communal areas of the house the force field springs back into action. If there are no interruptions, word count goes up. Excellent. So excellent, in fact, that after about an hour I deserve a break.That can take many forms, but often it’s a spin on my bike.
|Nothing but a Hound Dog|
Exercise is good, because it doesn’t feel like time wasting. Deciding to make banana muffins is less positive, because if I go back in the study while they’re baking I might forget the time and they’ll burn. Better stay in the kitchen and do something mindless. The same applies if I deem the moment I could start writing as too near a mealtime. Better to delay until hunger is assuaged.
There are more problems. Having no structure (like this blog) means I am never free of the feeling I should be writing. Weekends and evenings are as likely to find me round-shoulderedly typing, as a Monday morning. Only on holiday do I actually leave the writing behind. I realise I could change this, at least ‘Keep Sunday Special’, but the up side is that some of the results from the odd hours I keep feel absolutely right. (Limp justification for chaotic approach. Wouldn’t win a debating competition.)
It’s now Murray playing Verdasco. He’s two sets down and I can’t bear to watch. The bike is beckoning. And there are good reasons to get out and about in Bristol at the moment. We have eighty Gromits loose in the city. I’ve seen twenty, although suspect cycling behind the delivery truck is cheating.
Get yourself to Bristol . . .