Today was one of those tedious days at work. The hours seemed to tiptoe along at a snail’s pace. I’d completed my work within a couple of hours of getting into the office and was desperately trying to search for something else to do. Some days are like that and others are crammed with tasks which need doing yesterday. I prefer to be pushed – I need deadlines.
I hate being idle. I loathe being at work with nothing to do. I was so glad when my lunch hour arrived (yes, I took an hour today). I’d taken my obligatory notebook with me to the office kitchen/chill-out area and, whilst enjoying a pot of gorgeous home-made French onion soup from the little café down the road, I managed to sketch out the plot for the second part of my series. Gossip is rife and overheard snatches of conversation can be great fodder for a novel. I’m definitely of the persuasion that snatches of conversation, spoken in a public space, can be used and abused for other purposes, especially by someone writing a novel.
One of the most interesting things about working in a large office is the many different characters to be found therein. Some of them are rather eccentric (I’m desperately trying to become an eccentric), others are quiet and mouse-like, quite a few males, and not a few females, are loud and very opinionated – you know the type – their voices boom whenever they talk but they’re the first to look at others if their voices are impinging into their own workspace. Some think they’re extremely important and others just get on with their work. All types are represented in any large normal office environment.
Wait, what have I said? Normal? What, exactly, is normal – I’m certainly not normal – at least I don’t think I am. I don’t see anyone else writing furiously in a notebook every chance she gets. I don’t see anyone else surreptitiously eyeing up potential characters for their plots – although maybe someone else is and I’m going to end up in someone else’s novel… No, wait, I think that’s more along the lines of paranoia. I’m often meeting the eye of someone I’ve been eyeing up as a potential character in my next story and I wonder what they think I’m writing about. They possibly/probably think I’m slightly mad or even, oh please, eccentric.