I started so well Monday, actually starting to write before work. Unfortuantely I set up my spreadsheet instead, losing the chance to get myself a chest from the twisty little passages.
Then I skipped lunch writing. And second lunch writing.
There’s a rather cool novel, one of my favourite. It’s called Rats and Gargoyles, by Mary Gentle. It’s set in the Heart of the World, a massive, sprawling metropolis that’s sorta like Elizabethan England. And it’s hot. All the characters in the first part of the novel spend most of their time sweating, and Gentle does a rather repetitive job of stressing this. She’s a repetitive writer in that way.
Monday, the library was rather like the Heart of the World. Sweltering. We have something called air conditioning. What it actually does is sucks out all the hot air, and blows in all the hotter air in from outside. At least the air outside was hotter this Monday. I was dressed in all black, like a librarian version of Macbeth. My inner ears failed to cope with the heat, and I realise that I have to acclimatize to yet another environment this summer.
By the way, that was my excuse for not writing.
But now, sitting after a day of migraines and recovering from the heat, I have done the barest minimum to stop my Zeny Fighter for dying, a fate worse than heat exhastion. My game piece staggered through Monday, and only just made it through Tuesday.
Yes, I am writing, although I have to say that writing as a way to play a strange game I’ve created does make for interesting metaphor. I did exclaim to Cassie ‘good god! this game is harder than writing!’, but truth be told, if it weren’t for the threat my Zeny Fighter would collapse under the assualt of imaginary foes, I would have flagged today as well and done nothing.
And possibly tomorrow as well. But I can’t do that. Not now. I have to get through the week, and not let my poor game character die …