It's smack dab in the middle of saturday. The girl and I went to the market and mooched around a bit. The day was slowly cooking up to be a nice hot one. I got a bleeding heart to set out but I'll wait til it cools off some.
I've read the Globe & Mail and eaten a good lunch.
Now there is no way around it. Work.
Yesterday I spent about four and a half hours in a waiting room at the hospital. Waiting for a friend who had some proceedures done. I had brought my writing bag and as well - in a moment of genius and because I'd just bought new printer ink - 60 pages of the wip to work on. I got through the whole thing - writing my changes, putting notes and ?'s in my spiral wip diary and occasionally connecting to the merry band of fellow waiting folk.
Since the last pandemic scare there are no magazines in the waiting rooms of our hospitals. There was no television in this one for which I am profoundly greatful. Just a few rows of chairs with their mean chrome arm rests so you can't stretch out for a short or long zzzizz. On the wall were several versions of this sign "Please answer the phone in the GI waiting room. Nurses will call this phone when your loved one is ready." The sign has changed throughout the years but they leave all the signs up - just in case.
The point is that there were very few diversions. One woman was reading a book called 'Blood and Glory' or something close to that. I asked her if it was a mystery but she told me it was about the blood of Christ that could save so many people. And that, my dear people, was that for that!
The thing is, the weird and wonderful thing is - that it was really joyful to be working on my manuscript. I know, I know - I posted about that very thing in the Friday Challenge but still. It was ...um...delicious and satisfying. I keep getting this deep rush as I work on this revision. That I'm really and truly learning at last what it is to be a novelist - a writer of novels.