Arse. I just can't get any writing done. Part of it is, as I interminably tell people at any opportunity, having been stuck indoors for most of last year, any time I'm at home thinking about writing, I'm thinking a hell of a lot more about running out the front door for the nearest pub/gig/party/other person's living room at the speed of light.
So I bought another laptop.
If you were a laptop, you wouldn't like me. Bad things happen to laptops who spend time near me. They get ... hurt. The cold, dead evidence is lying in a cupboard a few feet from this computer.
The basic idea is with a laptop, I can fanny around in coffee houses like the rest of you 'writing my novel'. Preferably on Saturday afternoons, maybe in Mono, or Stravaigin's, or Offshore, or any one of a number of places. I won an Ebay bid for a Sony Vaio with a six gig hard drive for just about a hundred quid, so assuming it isn't a lemon with springs sticking out of it, the sheer guilt alone of spending the money will drive me to leave the house and do some actual work. Because that way, I won't be so scared of writing to my agent and admitting that where the new synopsis is concerned, I still ... haven't ... finished it.
1 comment:
I feel that there should perhaps be a 'home check' before you're allowed to adopt a new laptop...I mean it's only fair that any prospective adoptees should be allowed to know about points of available electricity in your home so that they can 'protect' themselves against accidents...or maybe just some bubblewrap in large quantities might help.
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