Fair warning, in just a few minutes I’m going to be in the thick of writing my new soon-to-be world famous novel all about loneliness and love and nostalgic ol’ America and so I won’t want to be interrupted.
Don’t try to interrupt me. Even if you found beer or vodka in your basement left over from thanksgiving or you want to get chili or bagels or go bowling.
Likely, my friends, we won’t see each other for a while now. And when I emerge, a changed man, a novelist, you may not see in my weathered visage the face of that guy you used to share nachos with before. While writing, I will be subsisting on an exclusive diet of saltine crackers and strong black tea and I will be slimmed and streamline and the words will flow from my fingers like white hot lightning, as if I’m the Emperor Palpatine of writing!
No more Star Wars for a while either.
Before I get started with all that though, just very quickly, let me describe this desk.
Presently, I’m on the second floor of the Brown County Public Library and I am at one of those two-sided facing workstation desks where there’s a shelving divider in between your individualized unit and a strangers who is on the other side. There’s a peeping hole on the side of the shelf and I keep subtly peering through to try to get a good look at the guy facing me. He smells good like cigars, but he’s not sitting at an angle that lets me see him. Besides that, he’s very busy calling people (at the library!) and yelling at them about how their Craigslist ads are still up, even though the products are long sold:
-Hi, I’m calling about the winter tires ad you put up on craigslist…Oh they’re sold? Well maybe you should take this goddamn ad down and stop wasting my fucking time!
You tell em, guy on the other side of the workstation! We’re a team!
Our desk, me and angry guys’ desk that is, is near a window to the left side of upstairs. We’re firmly nestled in the Latin American Lit wing, which consists of the 100 odd books directly behind me. The heat blasting through the building’s vents is coming out like the heat of ten thousand campfires, which is a waste because it’s at least 50 degrees outside.
Um, earth to library, ever heard of GLOBAL WARMING!? Well you will after my novel comes out anyway. My novel is also about global warming, and sex and eugenics and tiger breeding and the diamond trade? Intrigued yet?
This ten thousand campfires worth of heat, I’ll admit, is doing a number on my energy level. The Brown County Library is much too warm and womblike to be optimal for writing great American novels in. You think Richard Yates is keeping his apartment at a sweltering 85 degrees?
Nope, 57 Fahrenheit. All the time. Like a boss!
I keep putting my face down on the desk from the warmth and resting my eyes but I already took two naps this morning before lunch so I feel guilty.
I took my mid/late morning naps expressly so I wouldn’t be tired for writing this afternoon! Dammit! the genius prose churning inside me isn’t gonna be coaxed out in the middle of a creativity-stifling incubator like this!
That’s it. No more fucking around. I’ve decided I’m going to skip my early afternoon rest and forego the late afternoon nap too. This is serious. Day one of this novel is important. No more sleep till bedtime! That is, besides a small congratulatory nap I may take after getting some solid first day-ink on the page. That will just be a breaking-the-bottle-on-the-helm-of-this-ship-nap though! It’ll be a novel ribbon cutting nap!
I’ll admit too that this reggae isn’t helping. And I should confess as well that I’ve drank a hefty amount of leftover christmas wine out of my coffee thermos already. And that’s even after the two drinks I had with lunch…In my defense though, it’s almost 3 pm and so If I’m gonna get to bed by 8 to wake up in time for the morning grind of napping and thinking about writing, I’m going to need quite a bit of wine to offset the two pots of coffee I had after lunch.
Also, I should explain that reggae isn’t my normal auditory regiment for the written word. In fact, I started out with this really intense mix of classical music and bop jazz to inspire the world lightning right out of my fingertips, but that shit really piled the pressure on and I was starting to get really really anxious and panicky from all the coffee and sweeping cinematic music, so I cracked the wine and put on some Augustus Pablo. Needless to say, things are feeling a lot more languid now.
I am however, a bit perturbed by my fellow library patrons…About forty percent of the people in this place look a little bit stabby especially now that I’m wine buzzed…And for a place that encourages silence, there sure is a lot of manic laughter in here! I’m pretty sure a lady in a motorized chair stole my italian deli sammy (my afternoon post-nap snack!) while I was resting my eyes.
A guy with shark eyes just tried to sell me generic oxycodone. I sent him packing! With, of course, the express directions to leave me alone to write unless he had adderall or something to that effect. Ol’ Faulkner-in-training over here needs something to wake up!
OK just dozed off again. Folks, it’s clear that the muse isn’t coming. I think this is where we call it a day. I’m gonna go get some chocolate milk from the vending machine, maybe see what new releases they got in the movie section downstairs, (cross your fingers for X-Men First Class!) Then go home, eat some din-din and watch my stories before packin’ it in.
Oh wait, guy with the pills is coming back this way and he looks like he’s got good news. That’s great, I’ll need something for tomorrow, I’m starting work on my soon-to-be world-famous novel, it’s about loneliness and love…