how it works

I get up at five oclock (I now use letters instead of numbers for things under 100. Listen to your friends when they correct your spelling and grammar useage). I make a cup of tea or take the tea that has just been made by my husband. He is much more dedicated than I am. He rises slightly before the alarm or just on it. He intersperses his writing with a series of exercises, pushups, situps. I sit on the couch with my computer these days. I used to hand write everything first before the blogging started. I am beginning to wonder if this is why I am having trouble getting into this story. Perhaps the computer is not a good medium for me. Maybe I should go back to my little black moleskine, double handling, but still it is how I have always worked. I like to work with music, but he likes silence and so I tolerate the quiet, mainly because I can't be bothered finding headphones. I reach for books. I read little grabs of them, skipping through pages, trying to inspire myself through other people's words. I read things that might have some impact on the work, Delillo, Boyle, Manguso. For other novels I have chosen Proulx and McCarthy and Ondaatje, my favourites with their strong accents that are easily ingested.

The light changes in slow increments. Now, in summer it is already bright when I move to the couch, but it slowly spills into the room, it must be the angle of the sun.

I flick between open tabs on the computer, checking the other blog, my calendar, my email programme. I read furioushorses if I haven't got to it the evening before. I am scattered. I haven't hit my stride and I keep one eye on the clock because I will need to shower and leave for work soon enough. Sometimes, at last, I even write something. Sometimes if I am lucky it will be something I can use in the novel. This is how it works.