![]() Through the other large window, the sun, in reflecting the dirt and smog, now obscures the view. If I needed to check anything online, I used my phone. I made myself consider one document at a time and there was less fussing with folders. I realise leaving my mouse behind was a blessing in disguise. It’s strange how things disappear and reappear. How the time flies, as the room’s ticking clock fades in and out of my consciousness. My new story is stalled, so I go back to an ancient story that needs a good rewrite, edit and perhaps more words, to become the scaffolding of something else. Later in the day, others reveal they heard her sing a different song repeatedly. She sings a plaintive Sweet Child of Mine. It’s mid afternoon, which means home-made biscuits and hot English Breakfast to dunk them in, as sounds from a singer and her electric guitar climb together to reach us from the restaurant, or perhaps just busking on the lane. The main flaw in today’s effort was I forgot my mouse. Three floors below us, the muted noise of city diners enjoying their CBD al fresco lane way dining experiences floats up. I don’t know if it’s significant but both stories have their source in dreams. When the sun breaks through the clouds, the stone of the building I’m in that surrounds my window is golden in the afternoon light. Not sure where it will end, apart from darkly. I had left its ending in forlorn notes, but now it is all resolved in actual sentences.Īs for the new story, I have 1300 or so words, but I don’t know where it’s going yet or how. During, and also after lunch, I happily stop on my new story, to complete another which has been a bit of a hurdle for me. But there are clouds that make the white building opposite wavy and grey, instead of wavy and glowing. I haven’t looked out the window in a couple of hours. Sandwiches and also a tasty quinoa salad are revealed for a quiet lunch no one seems to stop working. See! I told you, it is all about new environments stimulating creativity. So far, so productive, including the first draft of this very blog entry. By 11am I’d written more than 700 words, had a cup of tea and enjoyed some very enticingly scented toasted fruit loaf with butter. It began as a mystery or literary adventure, but quickly became a bit of a horror-mystery. Today wasn’t meant to be about embarking on a new story, but I had a very clear dream the night before, inspired by recent news reports and my own memories all jumbled up, as brains are wont to do. Partial view of wavy red brick through part my wavy window I imagine this is a little like what quiet convent/monastery would feel like, if we were all religious folk 1000 years ago, only with less dying of the plague and more of the slightly too effective air conditioning, handy sources of electricity and free wi-fi. The atmosphere is welcoming and everyone respects the hushed ambience. Our host is convivial in her whispered efficiency. Other buildings are glimpsed through the arched window, older red brick and also concrete and glass. ![]() Above the roof line next door, the sky is the deep azure of early spring. The view from the high windows is distorted by the old glass, but no fly screen, so the building next door glows white and bright and wavy in the morning sunlight. We happy few are getting work done, or at least our fingers are getting a work out. There were desks, comfy enough chairs, food and beverages, natural light, power, a thoughtful selection of writing resources for inspiration, and much kind service from our host. WriteSpace: it’s everything I had imagined a day devoted to writing to be.
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