Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Day 4, I Washed My Cat Last Night

I made up more chores to do to procrastinate last night. I took a break when Ian came over. I realized I could not live on brussel sprouts and toast alone and made real food. I washed my cat.

Ever since flea fest 2009 I've been following the train of little black specks Blinky leaves behind with a wet sponge, wondering what has been happening to my poor cat.

So I filled the tub and eased her in prepared to get my face clawed off.

Blinky stood in the tepid water up to her belly looking at me confused. Not once did she mew in protest nor try to attack me to get out. I poured water over her, rubbed her down while she wandered the length of the tub with Blake and Eric taking pictures.

When I let her escape, she ran into the hallway and shook herself off.

Oh Blinky, who knew you had such dainty little ankles?

"So what's the book about?" Ian's the first person to really ask me that. I stood in the living room somewhat dumbfounded. Eric walked into the room and handed Ian a plate of spam and scrambled eggs. The boys ate while I tried to explain that I wasn't too sure what I was doing.

"It's like," I started. "I have an idea on what it's about but I'm not sure that it's going to go in the direction I think it's going to go. So, I don't know. "

"So you're going to figure it out?"

"I hope so?" I sat down and held my hands in my lap so they wouldn't nervously twitch. "Let the story tell itself. I don't know. I don't know how to plan these things. I don't outline, I don't think ahead, I sorta just do it."

"Completely understandable," he said, sounding satisfied with my answer. I expect people to want a synopsis when they ask me about the novel. I don't have one.

The house smelled like breakfast. It was still pretty early in the evening and the sun was already gone. This whole daylight savings thing makes me feel rushed. As soon as the sun disappears I think it's 8PM and I've got so much more writing to do. I'm still not completely happy with the quality of my prose, but I'm trying to keep that part of my brain on lockdown. The need to go back and start editing the measly 6,000 words I have is great.

I was going to venture out and try to write at a coffee shop today but felt lazy and looked around thinking I like my surroundings better. I have my own music, I have food if I get hungry, I have Blinky curled up next to me. There's a bottle of whiskey nearby. The only thing is I'm easily distracted here and it might help me focus if I was stuck in a public place with only my laptop and no other distractions. At least my distractions here involve cleaning. I've never been so proactive about removing ever single cat hair from every single surface in my living room. My house is incredibly clean.

1 comment:

Rory said...

I totaly get spooked when people ask me about my novel.... It feel so raw to talk about when it is not finished but i suspect I will always feel awkward sharing with my friends.

Strangers can call me a writer all day long but i feel like my friends would be like 'He's a writer? Please, he drinks and makes out with boys at parties more often...."

weird right?