This afternoon I have been that guy in the coffee shop, listening to jazz on an i-pod and writing a novel that will probably never see the light of day. Opinions on that guy vary with whether or not you’ve been him, your tolerance for slackers, and your own mental state. I’ve traditionally gone for a mixture of envy and loathing. But today I was that guy, and was glad of the change of scenery.
Even after several months, I’m finding it hard to settle into a routine work-wise. I can keep a pattern up for a week, maybe two, then I get a sort of mental inertia and have to shake things up again. When I was in an office I moved past this by changing projects or arranging long meetings (we called them workshops – this is how desperate office workers are to make their lives sound exciting – I had a long meaningless job title too). Now it’s mostly about getting out of the house, or doing a different sort of writing. This week my pattern seems to be writing at home in the morning, then planning and reading in a cafe in the afternoon.
This is not the Hunter S Thompson wild life of a writer, but compared with being in those ‘workshops’ it’s still the dream.
I expect I’ll say something more insightful tomorrow. But for now, I’ve written two stories in two days, and my brain needs to rest.
And in case you were curious, the jazz I was listening to was Eric Dolphy. Credit where credit’s due, that man’s a legend.