Today I should be on holiday. Like all the other people.
Because it is a religious celebration and because it’s Sunday.
For sure, I’m working. This time I was given a novel of a young Scottish author. Well written, I have only a few tecnical suggestions to add. Good experimental language, I would make just a few changes.
Only one thing. I don’t understand why he describes places using so many methaphors and so few details. No matter if the place is not as important as in the plot. It seems like he never actually visited those places. But as far as I know it’s his birth place.
I called him. For the very first time. Nice voice. But too many pauses when he talks. A little embarrassing.
– Hi, I’m Melanie Heddans, your editor.
– Hi. I’m John, your writer.
– How can I help you?
– Well, it’s me who can help you actually. I just need to have some more details about the places you’re writing about. The novel has the name of a place in the title. But there is no way to understand where it is set until you get to page 89. It’s quite late, don’t you think? And since I think we should…
– Ehm, beg your pardon…
– What page are you now?
– 105. Before communicating my opinions about it to the publisher I wished I could talk to you.
– Would you like to visit Scotland?
– Sorry? think I didn’t get it…
– After those 105 pages, doest it make you a bit curious about the places I wrote about?
– Well… I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking about it…
– Do it. Call me in 24 hours. No, no, I will call you in 24 hours.
He hangs up. I keep the receiver in my hand for something like 30 seconds after his voice was replaced by the sound of the beeping phone.
I close the book. Have a walk in the room. Watch out of the wondow. Think that I’m working at present with/for someone that is bold, strange, arrogant, nice voiced [maybe – too- young ] man whose speech has too many pauses.
I get to the glorious conclusion that I need a brownie and a hot chocolate. Don’t know why, but that’s it.
I put my coat on, without even thinking about the fact that I should also put my shoes on. I go out with my long green wool coat, the blue gloves, wool socks, wool slippers.
A pencil in my hair.
The bar I’ll go to and buy my indispensable brownie is so close, no need to be decently dressed up. Well, there is something in between being dressed up and being the female version of big Lebowsky. And for a second, in these situations, you think that the charming prince can be just round the corner, or in the bar you’ll enter dressed this way.
But there are moments you just know you need a brownie, and even true love can wait.
And while I’m walking down the street I can see I’m not cold, so I suppose we should really reconsider the idea of functional fashion.
I’m in London, and no one looks at you when you are oddly dressed (well, at least in this moment that’s what I like to think) and if people look at me, it is just for the color of my hair.
I take my brownie home. I prepare my cup of chocolate. What is needed, is there.
I sit down again, and start reading the book from the very first page. But with no critical attitude. I just want to see if it makes me feel like visiting Scotland.