Confession: I worry, from time to time, that this blog strays a little farther from my writing life than it should. Sometimes I worry that I spend more time talking about food and flowers and dogs than I do about writing. And then I think: does this mean I don't take myself seriously, as a writer? Should I not be thinking words and phrases and verbs and character and syntax all day long? Should I not be devoting even more posts to the State of Literature, or the Gender Question in Fiction, or other, likewise things?
And then I realize, of course, that a writing life can still be a writing life in the midst of dogs and flowers and pretty dresses. And that somehow, things will all turn out okay ...
Today, on the heels of a conversation that took place at last night's dinner, I had big plans to travel to East Lothian and see the gannets. I was going to take a cruise out to Bass Rock and take pictures and everything. But in order to get there for the correct sailing time, I would have had to leave the house at 7:00am. And, well -- when my alarm woke me up at 6, there was just no getting out of bed. It was that simple.
So instead I went back to bed. I rolled out and into the world circa 9:30, had a deliciously long shower (for which I'm pretty sure I'll eventually go to environmental hell, but c'est la vie), and then made sure to call the Seabird Centre and book tickets for a Thursday gannet excursion at a respectable time. And then I made my way to The Edinburgh Larder for brunch. If you are ever in Edinburgh, you must go to the Larder. (In fact, you must go to a lot of restaurants. I'll make a list, and post it when I can.) Had a roast chicken sandwich with mango chutney & coriander, and a bowl of leek soup. It was excruciatingly delicious.
And then? I, uh, went shopping for most of the rest of the day. That's all. I went shopping. I bought stuff. I indulged in six hours of retail therapy.
This is a big deal to me, because it has literally been years since I've had an entire day devoted to shopping. When you do not have money to cover your food for the month, there's very little opportunity to do anything other than stare into storefront windows. And that was basically my life in Edinburgh, when I was in residence in the city. Sure, I bought clothes here and there, but it was always out of necessity, ie. I once bought a new pair of jeans because I'd been walking around in a pair that had two huge holes in the crotch for nigh on two months. Not joking.
Anyway, so I spent most of the day shopping. Those of you who have traveled to the UK and perused their secondhand stores -- aka "charity shops" -- will know what they're like. Those of you who haven't? I implore you: go. Go for the shopping alone, because it really is worth it. I was and am a big fan of secondhand stores in Canada, but even when there, I can never quite shake the sense that the clothes aren't quite what they could be. Normally, when you go to the Sally Ann, or the Amity, or even that beloved VV Boutique, it's at least a little bit obvious that the clothes are secondhand. And the stores are almost always full of "interesting" characters, and they're never really all that clean, and you really have to spend a good few hours searching through racks of musty, shapeless clothes before you find that bargain. And most of the time, now, things aren't even bargains in the true sense of the word. Since when is paying $10.00 for a frayed pair of Value Village pants considered a deal?
Anyway. Lest I be accused of ranting unfairly, let me reiterate: I do actually like secondhand stores. I just, on the whole, prefer the ones that they have in the UK. Because they're amazing, plain and simple. Most of the clothes that they showcase haven't even been worn. In my experience, fashion trends change so quickly in the UK that it's quite common to see people purchase items in March and then take them into secondhand stores by the end of the summer. And the result of all this is that you have shop after shop filled with excellent, good-quality clothing that's cheaper, even taking the exchange rate into account, than most of the clothes you'd buy at a Canadian counterpart.
So I spent most of the day shopping. I bought two shirts, a dress, a pair of pants, and a pair of shoes (not from the charity shop, those ones, but they were on sale at Clark's for 75% off and they were PINK and I just couldn't pass them up), and spent roughly $40 for the lot. When you consider that $20 of that went for the shoes, I think it's safe to say it was all a pretty good day, bargain wise. And the novelty of being able to go around and spend money without feeling guilty about it was tremendously exciting. Look at me, I wanted to shout to passers-by. I'm spending money! I have money to spend! I am acting like a normal, financially secure individual! HALLELUJAH!
Yeah. It was pretty awesome. Eventually I dropped my purchases back off at the flat, and then I changed into evening clothes and put on my new pink shoes and went out to dinner with friends from work.
We went here. I will be sure to post about The Espy again in a few days, as I'm sure I'll be going there again before my time in Scotland is up, but for now let me just say that the nachos are as amazing as ever and once again, nothing beats sitting a few steps from the beach whilst eating dinner. Bliss.
And then, I went home and donned one of my new dresses (pics to come), made tea, put Mischievous Moon on the stereo, and started to draft my new novel.
Except that I didn't really spend all that much time drafting. Mostly, I just danced. By myself. For hours and hours. Danced on the shiny hardwood floors of my friends' impossibly posh Edinburgh flat, twirling in bare feet and watching the air puff the skirt of my dress out like a true 1930's swingin' gown.
Sure, occasionally I sat down at the desk and got out a few words. But most of the night -- as most of the day -- was spent just generally enjoying life, and my existence. And how is that not part of writing, guilty though I might feel for doing other things? Half of the writing process is living, non?
So today I refuse to feel guilty about it. Today I'm just going to be happy about shopping, nice dresses, good music, friends, posh Edinburgh flats, and dancing to Jill Barber until 11:30pm.
And the new draft will get down, eventually. :)
And then I realize, of course, that a writing life can still be a writing life in the midst of dogs and flowers and pretty dresses. And that somehow, things will all turn out okay ...
Today, on the heels of a conversation that took place at last night's dinner, I had big plans to travel to East Lothian and see the gannets. I was going to take a cruise out to Bass Rock and take pictures and everything. But in order to get there for the correct sailing time, I would have had to leave the house at 7:00am. And, well -- when my alarm woke me up at 6, there was just no getting out of bed. It was that simple.
So instead I went back to bed. I rolled out and into the world circa 9:30, had a deliciously long shower (for which I'm pretty sure I'll eventually go to environmental hell, but c'est la vie), and then made sure to call the Seabird Centre and book tickets for a Thursday gannet excursion at a respectable time. And then I made my way to The Edinburgh Larder for brunch. If you are ever in Edinburgh, you must go to the Larder. (In fact, you must go to a lot of restaurants. I'll make a list, and post it when I can.) Had a roast chicken sandwich with mango chutney & coriander, and a bowl of leek soup. It was excruciatingly delicious.
And then? I, uh, went shopping for most of the rest of the day. That's all. I went shopping. I bought stuff. I indulged in six hours of retail therapy.
This is a big deal to me, because it has literally been years since I've had an entire day devoted to shopping. When you do not have money to cover your food for the month, there's very little opportunity to do anything other than stare into storefront windows. And that was basically my life in Edinburgh, when I was in residence in the city. Sure, I bought clothes here and there, but it was always out of necessity, ie. I once bought a new pair of jeans because I'd been walking around in a pair that had two huge holes in the crotch for nigh on two months. Not joking.
Anyway, so I spent most of the day shopping. Those of you who have traveled to the UK and perused their secondhand stores -- aka "charity shops" -- will know what they're like. Those of you who haven't? I implore you: go. Go for the shopping alone, because it really is worth it. I was and am a big fan of secondhand stores in Canada, but even when there, I can never quite shake the sense that the clothes aren't quite what they could be. Normally, when you go to the Sally Ann, or the Amity, or even that beloved VV Boutique, it's at least a little bit obvious that the clothes are secondhand. And the stores are almost always full of "interesting" characters, and they're never really all that clean, and you really have to spend a good few hours searching through racks of musty, shapeless clothes before you find that bargain. And most of the time, now, things aren't even bargains in the true sense of the word. Since when is paying $10.00 for a frayed pair of Value Village pants considered a deal?
Anyway. Lest I be accused of ranting unfairly, let me reiterate: I do actually like secondhand stores. I just, on the whole, prefer the ones that they have in the UK. Because they're amazing, plain and simple. Most of the clothes that they showcase haven't even been worn. In my experience, fashion trends change so quickly in the UK that it's quite common to see people purchase items in March and then take them into secondhand stores by the end of the summer. And the result of all this is that you have shop after shop filled with excellent, good-quality clothing that's cheaper, even taking the exchange rate into account, than most of the clothes you'd buy at a Canadian counterpart.
So I spent most of the day shopping. I bought two shirts, a dress, a pair of pants, and a pair of shoes (not from the charity shop, those ones, but they were on sale at Clark's for 75% off and they were PINK and I just couldn't pass them up), and spent roughly $40 for the lot. When you consider that $20 of that went for the shoes, I think it's safe to say it was all a pretty good day, bargain wise. And the novelty of being able to go around and spend money without feeling guilty about it was tremendously exciting. Look at me, I wanted to shout to passers-by. I'm spending money! I have money to spend! I am acting like a normal, financially secure individual! HALLELUJAH!
Yeah. It was pretty awesome. Eventually I dropped my purchases back off at the flat, and then I changed into evening clothes and put on my new pink shoes and went out to dinner with friends from work.
We went here. I will be sure to post about The Espy again in a few days, as I'm sure I'll be going there again before my time in Scotland is up, but for now let me just say that the nachos are as amazing as ever and once again, nothing beats sitting a few steps from the beach whilst eating dinner. Bliss.
And then, I went home and donned one of my new dresses (pics to come), made tea, put Mischievous Moon on the stereo, and started to draft my new novel.
Except that I didn't really spend all that much time drafting. Mostly, I just danced. By myself. For hours and hours. Danced on the shiny hardwood floors of my friends' impossibly posh Edinburgh flat, twirling in bare feet and watching the air puff the skirt of my dress out like a true 1930's swingin' gown.
Sure, occasionally I sat down at the desk and got out a few words. But most of the night -- as most of the day -- was spent just generally enjoying life, and my existence. And how is that not part of writing, guilty though I might feel for doing other things? Half of the writing process is living, non?
So today I refuse to feel guilty about it. Today I'm just going to be happy about shopping, nice dresses, good music, friends, posh Edinburgh flats, and dancing to Jill Barber until 11:30pm.
And the new draft will get down, eventually. :)
Dahling, I emailed instead. Or rather, I'm going to.
ReplyDeleteClarks for $20?! I am soooo jealous.
ReplyDeleteSigh. If you have a chance, maybe there's a pink pair of whatever you got in a size 36 and you want to get me one and then, I guess when I see you I'll pick them up?