Thoughts...

Tomorrow is my Friday. In truth, as many of you are no doubt aware, tomorrow is not Friday. Not at all. Not even a smidgeon, no matter how hard one may try to wish it. Is it Friday anywhere else on this planet, or in this solar system? Who knows? Maybe? Why are you even asking me?

The point I am trying to make is that, although tomorrow is, indeed, Tuesday, to me it is Friday.

Friday...

The reason for this is that, after tomorrow, I have some time booked off from work. Right now I am sitting at my desk, listening to a bit of music, all the while pondering what to do over the course of eight empty days. London is always an option, but recently I haven't been in the mood to navigate a path through the hustle and bustle of the metropolis. Something quieter is in order, less frantic. I need some time to think, to imagine and piece things together. My mind is a maelstrom of thoughts, doubts, excitement about the upcoming month and the challenge it holds. But it is nothing compared to my current desire to...

to...

... to go downstairs, enter the kitchen, and make myself a hot chocolate. Preferably without milk (never add milk to hot chocolate, you monster). It has been months since the last one.

Not a bad idea, actually. In my mind, indulging in hot chocolate is the first step in welcoming the approach of Winter.

For the first couple of days I think I will stay at home for a bit, or maybe travel to some of the other towns close by. Embark on an adventure of sorts. Explore bookshops and haunt coffee shops, wrap up warm against the chill winds, and just observe and take notes and think for a bit and try and piece November's story together. The story is there, somewhere. The characters are staring out at me, but they lack clarity or substance.

It'll be time to get some Winter clothes soon. Is there nowhere nearby that sells a thick coat in black? Or perhaps a red scarf? Probably for the best; at this rate I'll be wandering through town dressed like a character from The Night Circus. Not that that's a bad thing. Victorian fashion would probably stick out a bit, though. Tophat is probably not a good idea. Now we're getting less Night Circus-y and more Dickensian. Best keep searching. Clothes shopping is such a bore...

I guess the free time will be dedicated to planning. And hot chocolate. Exploring? Why not. There is no shortage of ideas for this project, most of them having coalesced over the course of the last two years or so. It is a pleasant thought, sitting in a warm cafe, laying the groundwork for a novel, sketching the setting, thinking up names for things and the identities behind those names. Sometimes I wonder if there are any other writers in these same places, sipping at steaming drinks, perusing the shelves at bookshops - all thinking their own silent thoughts, minds constructing tales of imaginary places and people? It would be nice to think so.

Tired. Need sleep. This is the sort of stuff I write when I just feel the need to write something. A random collection of thoughts to usher in the end of another evening.

That hot chocolate is sounding great right about now...