Showing posts with label café. Show all posts
Showing posts with label café. Show all posts

Wednesday, 8 April 2015

Elevenses


It’s the best time of the morning. Midway between breakfast and lunch is the hallowed moment when fresh tea is brewed and some form of sustenance is consumed. It’s been in sync with our biological rhythm for ages. It goes by many names. My favourite figures in the Paddington Bear stories by Michael Bond:

Elevenses.

Every day, Paddington visits the old guy down the road for hot chocolate and a sticky bun. In my world, it’s tea and a muffin or a slice of Ter’s killer ginger/pumpkin/date loaf. At work I often have company for it, but on days off, it’s just me and my tea tumbler. It’s also proof that working straight through can be detrimental to the project; as a writer, I have found that getting away from the computer for a few minutes often unravels the knots in a scene. Stalled dialogue almost always gets traction the instant I leave, as if the characters are waiting for me to go away so they can continue without my interference.

I could “do coffee” for a living. I spent a lot of time hanging out in cafés with artists, poets and musicians during a previous life, and the love of socializing over hot milky drinks and pastries has remained with me. My workweek is populated by pals with whom I take such breaks, usually in the afternoon as I tend to pound through the morning without pause. Elevenses seems specifically reserved for downtime or a writing day.

Which reminds me … it’s time for a break.

Wednesday, 9 October 2013

Preamble


It’s nice to finish something. When you write novels and your short stories run about 40 pages apiece, it’s hard to feel like you’ve accomplished anything after a writing weekend, whether you write during every day of it or not. I love my novel and I’m learning to shorten up the stories, though not enough to make a single post of anything. The blog is helping a bit; while I never considered myself a writer of personal non-fiction, trying to keep my posts of readable length has kind of forced me into the genre.

But my forte is still fiction (I think). My preference is certainly fiction. I love to write about other people, yet, as I say, it can be darned demoralizing when it takes for-frikking-ever to get anything finished. It gets even worse when a new voice pops into mind and starts making demands. I begin to think Iʼll never get anything done so why bother starting?

Then there are days when that new voice gets so insistent that I start seeing pictures and overhearing conversations from a story I havenʼt conceived of yet. I can feel my right brain swelling with content. It isnʼt painful in the conventional sense, but it is definitely distracting. I literally have to set everything else aside just to get it out of my head.

A couple of months back, I put up a blurb called Café Nuit that was inspired by Adam Hurstʼs cello piece The Midnight Waltz. It was short, fairly sweet, and got pretty good reviews from the faithful. I guess the heroine of the piece was gratified because she came back to me this weekend and bugged me into writing an extension of her story. Granted, it took me a few hours to get it out in first draft. Iʼd hoped to do it in half the time, but it didnʼt need much tweaking so Iʼll take it.

Best of all, it isnʼt that long, so I can put it into a single post! Watch this space – it goes up tomorrow.

Enjoy.