I’ve got all the accessories for being a writer. I have got a blue typewriter and a brown reading chair and a red bookcase and a fountain pen and some computery type things with keyboards. And paper. I’ve loads of that. I’ve got a few notepads and three expensive notepads for special ideas. I’ve got a stash of scrap paper beside the bed, just in case.
And my love for Biro pens is genuine and steadfast.
Did I mention I was moody? I like drinking on my own, scowling, and looking out of train windows into the rain. I especially like imagining what I am looking like when I do this.
The only keyboard short-cut I know is the one for Word Count. I also know how many words I can type per minute.
I can use words like ‘climax’ and ‘flashback’ and ‘resolution’ and ‘character development’ in a way that sounds like they might mean something.
I have decided from now on I am only going to write shopping lists. And maybe memos at work. But possibly not.