The wilting writer
It was scorching today and, like some become down and lethargic in the grey weather I am the opposite. I hate the heat. It is always easier to warm up than cool down, and I write better looking out of a window with a steady stream and tinkle of rain. I am truly of these isles. I do not suffer claustorphobia but I imagine my discomfort of the heat is like being trapped in a confined space. Anyway, I woke early, determined to have a productive day of editing my novel. I started the day with an iced coffee and the Guardian, then to catch up with a few friends, then onto gym and swim. By early afternoon the heat had me frazzled and of impending migraine. I took a couple of painkillers, but it persisted. I did some shopping, watermelon, grapes, hot weather nibbles, but still it harangued. I took another two painkillers then, when I returned home tried to nap for an hour. It is still there, but not as sharp as it was. Needless to say I have only, in the past hour, managed to begin editing my ms. Which means I have to get that mich more done tomorrow. Am I whining? Well, yes, just a bit, not helped by the facy that I am still taking some time to post this particular blog. Avoidance? On some writing days when I have to either edit or write something I find difficult I find myself scrubbing skirting boards and dusting curtain rails. Funny that. Enough. Back to the work.