I write my first drafts longhand on my bed. I transcribe them to my computer and revise and rework them on my laptop while sitting on my upstairs sofa.
This week we’ve been having a couple new floors installed upstairs which means my bedroom and the sitting room upstairs were off limits. Our floors are in now, but the sititng room is still filled with things which belong in the kitchen. Things like our fridge, the stove, the table — you get the idea. Jo has to work today and I’m not quite uber enough to move those things myself, but I also have a non-fiction column to revise before tomorrow.
So here I sit. On the sofa downstairs, trying to revise this. I am failing. I’m failing because it’s not right. The light is wrong, the tension in the sofa is wrong, the height of the sofa is wrong. It’s just wrong.