Notes of the Author

While I think about moving, think about doing anything other than being sat here, I think about writing, but never do it. Here's something I wrote a while ago while I sat to write and also, never did.

I think to write. I contemplate writing, what I will write, for how long I will write, how and when I will fit the act of writing into my busy schedule that is entirely devoid of any plan. I scope the online databases for music to listen to whilst I engage in the awkward routine of ‘working out’, all the while, I consider my writing. Then, I shower, I breakfast, I dress, and still not a word is penned or typed. I go so far as to looking and rereading things from the past that I’d written, just to get me in the mood, I think. After a while of dawdling, I send out some emails, reply to a few messages; exercise the fingers in any way but the right way. Then I think about reading some more for an hour or so- I pick up a big book and abscond to read just a chapter before I can get down to some real work. Of course, the backbone of any solid writing is to have a compendium of good, solid, literature beneath you! I read, flick about to see how much nearer I am to the end, flick back and continue to read. I begin to contemplate my ambitions- a holiday, paying off my debts, rent. Monetary issues. I near the end of the chapter, overshoot it, and continue to read into the next. I send a message or two to an ex-lover, vain attempt to cradle the heart from its, still-fresh, pain. As I read I begin to get hungry, and there, I begin to think about food; what to have for dinner, what to save for later in the week, what will stay freshest the longest and so, must therefore be eaten last, and then, I begin to think about what I require in terms of ingredients, in order to make a more fulfilling meal. Some bread, an onion, lettuce. I think about my meagre finances, I think about a sandwich. I am hungry, I recognise, and how can I sit to write if my belly detracts from my ability? I think of cheese, ham, pickle. Cheese with mayonnaise. Do I have this with or without ham? And then; what about mustard? But still, I need bread! I think to venture to the shops, then I will make my sandwich, and then I will sit to write. I think all of this, and then, in thinking it- I think to write it down, here, but alas- this is not my novel- and so what I write is of not much use, at all.