So I'm writing a novel. My "next" novel, while my agent shops my last novel -- the one featuring two boys who form a hardcore band in Pennsylvania. This novel is less hardcore but the plot does involve a band, or a concert, and a couple boys and a couple crazy families, and I'm in love with it right now, all the scenes spreading out in front of me desperate to be written. There's only one problem. Well there's only one problem that I'm writing about in this blog post... where to do all this writing without distraction. The easy answer is home, because I live alone and even when my boyfriend is around (which is at least half the time) he does give me some space to write on the balcony and get into a semi-groove with the story and the characters and the love, and I love that he does that but still, it's hard to pull away from him for the multiple hours it takes to write a first draft and a second draft (which I'm currently on) while keeping the flow going in a summer when I'm busier than I've ever been with work (which I feel like I say every time I post) and there's an endless stream of activities and parties I've committed to and it's just hard to find the time so when I finally find the time to write, I want it to be perfect and so far this summer, in the city, it's been... difficult. Like... WHY ARE YOU SHOUTING IN A COFFEE SHOP WHEN EVERY SINGLE PERSON AROUND YOU IS ON THEIR LAPTOP WORKING ON SOMETHING IMPORTANT AND COULD GIVE TWO FLYING FUCKS ABOUT THE CONVERSATION YOU'RE HAVING WITH THE GIRL 2 FEET FROM YOU. She can hear. Stop shouting!!!!!!
So I work from home when I'm not traveling and by some miracle I haven't traveled at all in July so I was home a lot and I've been working my ass off, like 10 hours days every day minimum just sitting in front of that goddamn computer doing engineering shit and data work and conference calls and I just can't -- like who can -- so I need a release, I need to get out of my place, and my very favorite coffee shop in Hoboken closed in the spring and the re-opened version is a pale imitation and it's averaged 112 degrees with 100% humidity for the past few weeks so sitting outside in Sinatra Park, while not horrible, is a bit of a sweat-and-bug-filled challenge so I inevitably head for the city to write and sadly, I encounter... people. Like this guy.
This blog belongs to Bill Elenbark.
Lover of songs. Writer of wrongs.