Sunday was the first day I’ve done any real work on the new house. Becky’s dad and I (I think you can figure out how the workload was balanced) ripped off the remaining dry wall in the living room and back bedrooms, cut some pipe and rerouted some plumbing in the kitchen and laundry room, and installed some electrical boxes in the bathroom. I got to wear gloves and a mask and use power tools without hurting myself or anyone else. Inside the house looks awful and smells rank, but once all the old drywall is out it won’t take much to get up the new stuff and then get the floors in. I’m having fun so far, though I haven’t done anything real nasty yet.
Along with the heavy man work, I was able to do some writing in my own comfort zone. I did about 500 words before we left for the new house, and then when we got home around 11pm from a Super Bowl party, I managed to fend off the lazies and get another 500 done before bed. Overall, the week was not a great one writing-wise, but there were a few days where I really didn’t want to write that I overcame and worked through.
On Friday I’d done something I haven’t done in a long time (shut up John…and Dave): I wrote in a diner, Denny’s to be specific. Back in my high school and early college days before the explosion of coffee shops, I did most of my writing at all night diners on notepads. It was great and is a totally different experience from writing in a coffee shop. I think the type of fiction I write is more suited to grimy diners than cozy coffee shops and I want to do more writing that way.
Anyone else who writes out of the house use restaurants or diners instead of coffee shops?