I have ‘pulled myself together’.
I’m dealing with the facial disfigurement by growing a beard. It’s all going to be fine.
I’m shopping too. I’m going to be signing books soon, so I thought I’d buy a new nib for my fountain pen. And some ink. Shopping for bottles of ink is always really fun. It isn’t like buying shoes.
I do it online. It would be so much better if there were a shop, dimly lit, with rows and rows of little glass bottles lined up like medicine in an old fashioned chemist’s.
I wanted an ink to co-ordinate with the cover of the book. Because I am feeble and shallow. I can worry for a long time about the exact right colour, and what kind of message scented ink will say about me, and whether I will smudge the ink on the inside of the cover, and all kinds of other, similarly feeble things.
It is called displacement and projection and substitute anxiety.
The first person who guesses which colour I chose can have a free copy of the novel, posted to them when I get my box of author copies, which should be soon. Put your guess as a comment. When my ink arrives in the post, I will post a picture so you know, despite my occupation and reputation, I am not lying.