Quarantine Project Day 38
Someone asked me if there isn't a tension between writing the novel and blogging about it here. The answer is no. I don't have a problem in talking about the technicalities or the daily issues. You'll note that I have kept well away from content. That's because the two things are governed by different areas of the brain. Writing, and writing about writing, are not the same thing. Writing is done by the writer; writing about writing is performed by the author.
Anyway another half-day swallowed by the peripheral business of being an author as opposed to being a writer, but made very pleasant by the arrival of Liz and Charlie to take some pictures for a magazine that wants a "Where I work" feature. Actually it's no-one's business where I work. Doesn't change the books, does it? Listen y'ere, I rove the vast continents and measureless caverns of the imagination, so why would you want to see what my carpet and curtains look like?
But, anyway, vanity. Try to make me look intelligent, wise, modest, appealing, fun, devil-may-care, perspicacious and pipsicocious was the simple brief I gave to Charlie and off she went, doing exactly that. Well trying to. For about three hours. Tall order, yes, and the principal quality I managed to project was... grumpy.
But after these exciting young women had left me in my lonely cave I managed a respectable 1719 words.
(For yesterday's blog in the Quarantine Project click on "archives")
