it going?” says Suze, appearing at my door in a towel, and I jump guiltily. I’ve been sitting at my computer for quite a while now but I haven’t actually turned it on.
“I’m just thinking,” I say, hastily reaching to the back of the computer and flipping the switch. “You know, focusing my thoughts and . . . and letting the creative juices meld into a coherent pattern.”
“Wow,” says Suze, and looks at me in slight awe. “That’s amazing. Is it hard?”
“Not really,” I say, after a bit of thought. “It’s quite easy, actually.”
The computer suddenly bursts into a riot of sound and color, and we both stare at it, mesmerized.
“Wow!” says Suze again. “Did you do that?”
“Erm . . . yes,” I say. Which is true. I mean, I did switch it on.
“God, you’re so clever, Bex,” breathes Suze. “When do you think you’ll finish it?”
“Oh, quite soon, I expect,” I say breezily. “You know. Once I get going.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to get on with it, then,” says Suze. “I just wanted to borrow a dress for tonight.”
“Oh right,” I say, with interest. “Where are you going?”
“Venetia’s party,” says Suze. “D’you want to come too? Oh, go on, come! Everyone’s going!”
For a moment I’m tempted. I’ve met Venetia a few times, and I know she gives amazing parties at her parents’ house in Kensington.
“No,” I say at last. “I’d better not. I’ve got work to do.”
“Oh well.” Suze’s face droops briefly. “But I can borrow a dress, can I?”
“Of course!” I screw up my face for a moment, thinking hard. “Why don’t you wear my new Tocca dress with your red shoes and my English Eccentrics wrap?”
“Excellent!” says Suze, going to my wardrobe. “Thanks, Bex. And . . . could I borrow some knickers?” she adds casually. “And some tights and makeup?”
I turn in my chair and give her a close look.
“Suze—when you decluttered your room, did you keep
anything
?”
“Of course I did!” she says, a little defensively. “You know. A few things.” She meets my gaze. “OK, perhaps I went a bit too far.”
“Do you have
any
underwear left?”
“Well . . . no. But you know, I feel so good, and kind of positive about life—it doesn’t matter! It’s feng shui. You should try it!”
I watch as Suze gathers up the dress and underwear and rifles through my makeup bag. Then she leaves the room and I stretch my arms out in front of me, flexing my fingers. Right. To work.
I open a file, type “Chapter One,” and stare at it proudly. Chapter One! This is so cool! Now all I have to do is come up with a really memorable, striking opening sentence.
I sit quite still for a while, concentrating on the empty screen in front of me, then type briskly,
Finance is the
I stop, and take a sip of Diet Coke. Obviously the right sentence takes a bit of honing. You can’t just expect it to land straight in your head.
Finance is the most
God, I wish I were writing a book about clothes. Or makeup.
Becky Bloomwood’s Guide to Lipstick
.
Anyway, I’m not. So concentrate.
Finance is something which
You know, my chair’s quite uncomfortable. I’m sure it can’t be healthy, sitting on a squashy chair like this for hours on end. I’ll get repetitive strain injury, or something. Really, if I’m going to be a writer, I should invest in one of those ergonomic ones which swivel round and go up and down.
Finance is very
Maybe they sell chairs like that on the Internet. Maybe I should just have a quick little look. Since the computer’s on, and everything.
In fact—surely it would be irresponsible of me if I didn’t. I mean, you have to look after yourself, don’t you?
Mens sana in healthy sana
, or whatever it is.
I reach for my mouse, quickly click onto the Internet icon, and search for “office chairs”—and soon I’m coasting happily through the list. And I’ve already noted down a few good
“I’m just thinking,” I say, hastily reaching to the back of the computer and flipping the switch. “You know, focusing my thoughts and . . . and letting the creative juices meld into a coherent pattern.”
“Wow,” says Suze, and looks at me in slight awe. “That’s amazing. Is it hard?”
“Not really,” I say, after a bit of thought. “It’s quite easy, actually.”
The computer suddenly bursts into a riot of sound and color, and we both stare at it, mesmerized.
“Wow!” says Suze again. “Did you do that?”
“Erm . . . yes,” I say. Which is true. I mean, I did switch it on.
“God, you’re so clever, Bex,” breathes Suze. “When do you think you’ll finish it?”
“Oh, quite soon, I expect,” I say breezily. “You know. Once I get going.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to get on with it, then,” says Suze. “I just wanted to borrow a dress for tonight.”
“Oh right,” I say, with interest. “Where are you going?”
“Venetia’s party,” says Suze. “D’you want to come too? Oh, go on, come! Everyone’s going!”
For a moment I’m tempted. I’ve met Venetia a few times, and I know she gives amazing parties at her parents’ house in Kensington.
“No,” I say at last. “I’d better not. I’ve got work to do.”
“Oh well.” Suze’s face droops briefly. “But I can borrow a dress, can I?”
“Of course!” I screw up my face for a moment, thinking hard. “Why don’t you wear my new Tocca dress with your red shoes and my English Eccentrics wrap?”
“Excellent!” says Suze, going to my wardrobe. “Thanks, Bex. And . . . could I borrow some knickers?” she adds casually. “And some tights and makeup?”
I turn in my chair and give her a close look.
“Suze—when you decluttered your room, did you keep
anything
?”
“Of course I did!” she says, a little defensively. “You know. A few things.” She meets my gaze. “OK, perhaps I went a bit too far.”
“Do you have
any
underwear left?”
“Well . . . no. But you know, I feel so good, and kind of positive about life—it doesn’t matter! It’s feng shui. You should try it!”
I watch as Suze gathers up the dress and underwear and rifles through my makeup bag. Then she leaves the room and I stretch my arms out in front of me, flexing my fingers. Right. To work.
I open a file, type “Chapter One,” and stare at it proudly. Chapter One! This is so cool! Now all I have to do is come up with a really memorable, striking opening sentence.
I sit quite still for a while, concentrating on the empty screen in front of me, then type briskly,
Finance is the
I stop, and take a sip of Diet Coke. Obviously the right sentence takes a bit of honing. You can’t just expect it to land straight in your head.
Finance is the most
God, I wish I were writing a book about clothes. Or makeup.
Becky Bloomwood’s Guide to Lipstick
.
Anyway, I’m not. So concentrate.
Finance is something which
You know, my chair’s quite uncomfortable. I’m sure it can’t be healthy, sitting on a squashy chair like this for hours on end. I’ll get repetitive strain injury, or something. Really, if I’m going to be a writer, I should invest in one of those ergonomic ones which swivel round and go up and down.
Finance is very
Maybe they sell chairs like that on the Internet. Maybe I should just have a quick little look. Since the computer’s on, and everything.
In fact—surely it would be irresponsible of me if I didn’t. I mean, you have to look after yourself, don’t you?
Mens sana in healthy sana
, or whatever it is.
I reach for my mouse, quickly click onto the Internet icon, and search for “office chairs”—and soon I’m coasting happily through the list. And I’ve already noted down a few good
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