Saturday, December 06, 2008

Edit Update -- Week #3 (and I visit a pub)

While late October when the leaves are bright will always been my favorite time of year, I enjoy this time of year too, when the trees are all but bare, and the fog settles over the valley, along with the chill and the wet and the mud. Very conducive to time travel... I mean, sitting by the fire and losing myself in the 18th century.

A friend recently had a gig at a local Irish pub. Brian and I went to hear him play the sax in a Hobo Jazz band. It was great fun. We enjoyed the music and seeing our friends, but I also was enamored of the atmosphere and look of the place. I don't drink alcohol (though I do cook with it). Just never developed a liking. I didn't know this pub existed, tucked away downtown. It's housed in a building originally put up in the early 1900s. The interior has such great texture. It's rich with crumbly old brick and aged wood, and upstairs is a nook with fireplaces and comfy couches and tables set over bright rugs. A great place to curl up with a cup of tea and write (yes, Matt, I totally agree!). I've never had a laptop computer (maybe it's time to ask Santa for one?), so I can't at present indulge. But I'd love to be able to bring that same feeling home to the room where I write.

In a small way I have, over the years. As well as certain colors, I like a variety of textures in the room where I work. Our house is old (not as old as the pub), and the room where I write is paneled in recycled wood. There's a hearth of mismatched brick and stone in the corner, and a gas fireplace that looks like a wood burning stove. There's wicker furniture and fringed throws and rugs and pillows. There are baskets and pinecones and a spider plant that won't stop having babies. There's a bodhran hung on the wall behind my desk, and a map of North Carolina, circa 1775. There are photos, one of my paintings, a cranberry wreath and the Plains Indian style quiver I made when I learned to bead on a loom. And there are books. Shelves overflow and piles abound.

But I still think about that upstairs corner of the pub, and wonder can Santa afford a laptop this year....

As for the edit:

Beginning word count: 286,598
Current word count: 261,509
Down by: 25,089

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