The best job in the world

Go to coffee shop. Do new timeline for book, based on ‘research’ last night (for which, read supper with old friends, one of whom is an expert in the field. Thai chicken curry, cooked by local food shop. Prepared by husband while I ‘researched’. Top evening.).

Think about next scene, which is a biggie. Get idea to make it more exciting. Get other idea about first idea, which makes it so exciting it’s like watching a particularly gripping bit of someone else’s movie. Walk across Common to library rehearsing scene to myself, in case I forget it. Can’t wait to write it down. Counting the minutes.

Get to food shop next to library. Coincidentally, the shop that produced the Thai chicken curry. It also does cappuccinos. Order cappuccino. Have chat with shop owner. Go to library. Read papers while drinking cappuccino (second of day). Get serious caffeine high. Set up laptop in favourite bit of library (including earphones, phone on silent, banana, smoothie, Kit-Kat etc. – this takes some time). Answer emails. Google. Answer answers to my emails. By now at least an hour since I absolutely had to write scene.

Write scene. Eat banana. Drink smoothie. Eat Kit-Kat. Write other kick-ass scene. Get several thousand words ahead of schedule. Do more celebratory googling.

Look at time on laptop. It’s 17.06. Go home in time to watch 2 year-old eating sausage and broccoli supper. Catch up with husband, who’s been shopping.

Put 2 year-old to bed. Call mother. Watch husband doing his blog. Watch America’s Next Top Model and Eurovision semi-final.

Contemplate ironing. Do blog instead. Are there better jobs in the world?

No. There aren’t.


4 thoughts on “The best job in the world

  1. But…but…I thought PUBLISHING DEALS somehow cured writers of the procrastination virus?

    Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear.

    I’m off to defrost the fridge.

    • I still like to think of myself as the queen of procrastination. Sometimes, I even find myself reading the sports pages to justify another 5 minutes of not writing. It’s an art form, I find …

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