Hubby stumbled upon yet another creepily appropriate (or maybe just creepy) image for me this week…
…though I do wonder why she appears to be wearing her knickers over her trousers. Perhaps she is a literary Superhero? Or perhaps she’s not wearing trousers, and was just too busy writing to finish dressing? Either way – and disregarding the whimsical 20th century typing apparatus and cavalier use of perspective – it is true that many writers are cat people, and many are confined to very small spaces, both physically and inside their heads.
In recent years, of course, the traditional writer’s garret has lost its bohemian charm and cafés have become the fashionable place to write, or at least to be seen to write. I tried this myself for the first time this week, while waiting for a train in Brighton and having nowhere else to deploy my trusty pink netbook.
It doesn’t take much to distract me at home, so I was surprised how productive I was during the hour or two I was there. Maybe feeling a little self-conscious helped focus my attention on the screen. I will definitely try writing out and about again, though I must set a beverage budget next time, otherwise I could end up drinking away my profits before I’ve earned them.
Due to torrential rain on the previous day, I also got to spend hours scribbling alone in our hotel room – the total opposite of the sociable café setting. I wouldn’t recommend sitting in bed to write – far too easy to fall asleep. Which might say something quite worrying about my WiP…★