Free at last. And little bit cold to boot.

I think, God willing, I think, the large part of my job is done.

 

I came home on Sunday night full of great ideas and producer Emma’s nachos (sorry Emma) and started telling my flatmate all about them (the ideas, not the nachos).

 

I was talking very quickly and very loudly. You know, that obnoxious way you do when you think you have a good idea. No? Just me then. And bless her proverbial cotton socks my flatmate humoured me, she heard me out for an hour or three before quietly, as if it wasn’t a big deal, asking me “That all sounds great Danny...so what’s the actual story you’re going to write then?”

 

I felt a little ill. It was probably just all those nachos.

 

I thought. I ummed and ahhed. I reread the news story. Then I read several other related stories. I checked the football scores. I tried making notes on some of the stories. I looked at the pictures in these stories. I rechecked the football scores to see if they’d changed in the last few minutes. I went to bed.

 

Then I didn’t leave the house for two days.

 

First day I stressed. I texted a few people. I ate a few sweeties. I drank tea. A lot of tea. And eventually, finally, I started scribbling. Without really knowing where it was going but just to get something down. But over time, tea and some considerable swearing at my computer, it somehow became something of a play-shaped thing. - Though Charlie pointed out, it was probably worthwhile going back to beginning bit and making that bit look like it was going somewhere all along.

 

So I did and I spent a second day indoors, going over everything, tightening dialogue, improving the structure, having panic attacks I was just making things worse, ignore the panic attacks, and drinking more tea. And then finally, I was done. It was done. It was late, I’d drunk far too much tea I was very tired, but it was, to a large extent, done.

 

The next day I went outside. To teach screaming 8 year old kids. And it snowed.

 

Ho hum.