When I turned my computer on this morning, it started making the most horrendous clattering noise. I suspect a fan is not in a good mood, and that, for anything which requires a constant dispersion of heat, is never a good thing. If it breaks that’ll pretty much be it, because I have no money to either repair or replace it, and it’s well out of its warranty by now; still I sit here calmly writing this blog, just listening to the vacuous hum (does that make sense?) as it decreases and then builds again to a deafening crescendo, and I want it to stop because I’m scared the computer with just burst into flame should it continue.
Rattling electrical equipment aside, I think I’ve managed to stumble back onto the creative pony after an inspiring conversation with my friends on Thursday evening. Despite their advice of just sitting at a scheduled time and streaming out something related to, but not actually inserted into, my novel, I walked to the library and was hit by a sudden idea which I began to commit to paper. For some reason the staff had turned the ceiling fans onto full, and I wasn’t so much working as holding down various sheets of paper, so I relocated to the coffee-shop and ordered a banana-milkshake. The Americano do a fantastic real fruit milkshake if you’re ever in the neighborhood.
So far so good on the writing front. After heading home I managed to type up six-hundred words, which haven’t yet caused me the anguish of self-doubt, but we’ve been here before haven’t we, so perhaps holding my breath isn’t such a good idea just yet. More encouraging perhaps, is my friends will be round again for a gathering tonight, and they have suggested they have a read of the work before I encounter the chance of deletion, so they can assure me my efforts are perfectly reasonable for a first draft. I know technically I’ve now crafted this same chapter at least three times, but if I refer to it as a forth draft, the inevitable sequence of events will kick in again, and I’ll throw it away.
Oh, the humming has died down.
Presently, I am plodding on my pony back into the writing jungle, trying not to take note of the various overgrown tree branches which might impede our path, and formulating routes around the obvious tiger in the foliage. Hopefully with two voluntary writing affirmationists (which should definitely be a real word), the road will become less hazardous the further in we travel. One word, after another word, and sentence after sentence, without peering back, that’s the plan, but again, I wouldn’t yet hold thy breath.