I haven't blogged anything for days. To be honest, spending all day in your pyjamas, writing lists, editing and re-editing and smoking cigarettes just doesn't seem interesting enough to share with the world.
I'm working on a story that refuses to die quietly or get better. I've subbed it to the crit group and hope they'll tear it to pieces and give me ideas of how it might be made into something approaching readable. Next up - ach damn. I should should and ought to be starting a novel. But I'm scared to get given a deadline and the responsibility. What if I ran out of breath before I reached the requisite word count? What if the ideas are all just turkeys?
I'll do it tomorrow. Today, time-wasting and cooking, and later two hours life drawing. A nice way to spend time word-free. The class is across the road - literally, I can see in the window right now. And the model is very bendy. When I did the life-model thing I would sit dazed for an hour - this girl twists and holds the most demanding poses without any limb shake or apparent discomfort. Kudos.
Apart from that, it's autumn, and therefore time to gather berries and make jam. The rowans and brambles are out, and me and SO had a lovely afternoon fighting prickly hedges and getting rained on while we collected enough berries to stain our hands purple.
This weekend we'll be going to a new, small festival in a park in Glasgow, called Indian Summer. The yeah yeah yeahs are playing, and The Fall and some other cool bands. And best of all, my little (read six foot two and built like the proverbial) brother is back from Africa. We shall celebrate till we fall over.