I hate packing. But after a day at it, I have shoved most everything I'll need into the rucksack. I'll have to wear my hiking boots onto the plane, and carry my warm jacket, and clearly I'm not buying ANYTHING while I'm away because there isn't a skerrick of unused space in said rucksack,1 but by and large it's done.
No doubt I'll spend the next few days unpacking and repacking in a vain attempt to jettison something, because that's normally how I roll.
The only major task outstanding is take notes on the faerie novel, and on the latest novel premise,2 in case I want to write and/or brainstorm, respectively, while I'm away. (For a while there I toyed with the clearly insane idea of bringing a print-out of the faerie novel with me to Mongolia. Luckily, space considerations rank higher in my head than even my panicked work ethic, so at home the novel entire shall stay.)
In lieu of content, I offer you a photo my friend took in Christchurch Cathedral at Oxford Uni:
- Oh for one of those fancy new sleeping bags what shrink down to virtually nothing… [↩]
- People are always asking writers where they get ideas — and every writer I know always answers that ideas are not the problem. Choosing which ideas to focus on and invest in, and finding time to work on the few you've chosen, is the problem. [↩]