Why are things so much more exciting when done in secret? Most commonly this applies to sex, and that’s where the lies come in, but in my case I’m talking about something that shouldn’t be shameful at all: writing. That thing I’m supposed to do all the time, and talk about as if I do all the time, but more often than not don’t.
I find writing at home practically impossible. A spent most of Sunday afternoon bored out of my tree yet could not bring myself to get the laptop out. Too bored to sit still. In the end I baked a golden money cake to give my SO good luck getting a new job.
But compare to this lunchtime: I pootled out the office to the most sacred of spaces (a coffee shop within a bookshop) and with only twenty minutes available scribbled half a side of A4 in details and plans for a major scene. And decided to switch the personalities of two significant characters. When time is short, important things can be achieved. The longer the time I have, the less I am likely to do anything. Could secret lunchbreak writing be the key to Project B’s success?