Somewhere there's a stereotype that won't die. Professional writers have such an amazing life. One of glamour and riches and self-indulgence and the list goes on. One of the images a lot of folks seem to have about full-time writers is that they stay in their pyjamas all day, eat bonbons, and occasionally face their angsty computer. Oh yeah, and a lot of alcohol is usually involved too.
I decided yesterday to give this stereotype a whirl. I was going to stay dressed in my long, black, silkish night gown, burrow in my huge green terry robe, and write. I didn't have any bonbons, but I figured I could dig up some stray chocolate leftover from the holidays and that would be close enough. We had wine, but I wasn't going to drink it unless I was eating dinner, so that part of the image would have to be ignored. I was all set for my day in the life of decadence. After some lounging, I did journal. But then Mark called on his way home from work with an idea to go out for dinner. I couldn't pass that up, so I finally took my shower and got dressed. So today will be the day I put the stereotype to the test.
I've written in my pyjamas before. Usually the outfit was a pair of flannelish pants and a sweatshirt with Tigger on it. No bonbons in sight those times either. And these episodes either occurred after I changed out of my work clothes or on the weekends when I didn't have to go anywhere. So today I'm going for the classic silk - or silk-like material. And maybe I'll send Mark out to get me those bonbons.
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