Writing Time

I'm in one of my happy places. The La Trobe Reading Room of the State Library.

You have to book a spot - they do certain times - my time is between 2.30 and 6 pm. There is also a morning session.

You have to show your booking to the guy at the door and queue to get in. If you leave the building before your time is up, bad luck, that's it. There's no coming back once you're out. 

You have to keep your mask on. Thank goodness for separators is all I can say. They monitor the mask situation - you're asked to put it on if you take it off. They're serious about this. I'm fine with that. I feel better with a  mask on in the city anyway. 

The air conditioning is as good as ever. I've been known to hang out here on hot days, just to escape the heat and get a bit of peace. 

And the dome is as grand and imposing as ever. 

Over the years I've come here regularly to write, to research and to generally hang out away from the heat. The chairs, wooden affairs, with a low back and arm rests, have seen millions of arses over the year. When I started the Faber course, it was with the aim that after work, I could mosey up here for a few hours, find a corral, and write for a bit before heading across the road and catching the train home. 

In the last months, I've been missing having somewhere to go to write. Sitting in my chair, in front of my kitchen table, which works as both a dining table and a desk, I've been itching to go somewhere else to think, ponder and pen.

The small laptop I bought late last year as a traveller - lighter, easier to cart about, nice to type on, and far less wieldy than my normal laptop with the 15 inch screen - it's finally be charged up again. Thankfully, the long respite has done it no damage - took about ten minutes of updates last night but it is working well. 

And now that I've written this, it's time to do what I came here to do.

Write the bloody novel.

It is good to be back. 

Today's Song: