#9. Life of a Writer. How to Waste Time.

If I ever wondered about something I am good at, now I have found that talent. I can waste time like no one else on this planet. Maybe it is a characteristic of writers. Or maybe it is when I am incubating ideas. This morning I went to No Frills to buy unsalted butter that was on sale. It was an extra trip since they were out of it when I arrived yesterday. After coming home and putting the butter in the refrigerator, I decided it was such a beautiful day that I must be outside. So I walked over to Avenue Road (Toronto) to see an exhibition of paintings at the Ingram Gallery. When I came home, I did a load of laundry and had lunch. Soon I will leave for the Bloor Cinema to see the 9th film of 10 at TIFF. (Artifact) .

The reality is that between my activities of this past week, including some wonderful films (Amour, Quartet, The Gatekeepers, etc.), I have done a lot of writing. I never really know when I am wasting time and when what I do is productive. It may be necessary to my ongoing existence. But it may also be a way of easing into what I intend to do on a manuscript.

What I am working on now is a memoir. The title: Restless. That captures the life of someone who wastes time as well as all the other examples of restlessness in my life. I think. In any case, I am going to have a section critiqued by my colleagues at my writing group, Moosemeat, in ten days or so. So I have been looking for an extract that seems to be ready for their close inspection. And every time I sit down at the computer, I do something to prepare the excerpt I will send out a week before this critique.

View from my window this evening.