Thursday, May 28, 2009

Highlights, highlights

Boyfriend was away. Boyfriend got back. Boyfriend brought with him new toy. I’m sitting straight-backed and typing on it as we speak. It’s called a net book and is a lovely blue colour. Don’t ask me for specifications, but being the laptop mini that it is, it could push me into blogging from bed if I wanted. Except I seem better suited to a study table. Plus lamps are our friends. They shell out an ambience and help us be devoted to the cause. As against mattresses and pillows that are evil and not at all conducive to work of a typing nature.

Then, besides handy knick knacks – tweezers, scissors, pepper spray keychains, chap sticks, hair accessories and a pair of brilliantly fitted jeans – he, the boyfriend, also got me something called a novel writing kit. It’s called No Plot? No problem! Looks like a book, but is one of those hollow things with paraphernalia inside, including a pamphlet on how to churn out rubbish drafts in thirty days. Doesn’t say rubbish drafts but says clearly that no matter what you start with, it’s going to need redoing so never mind the perfect sentence on the first try. I think a quote of a similar nature is attributed to Hemingway. I’ll check. But the novel writing kit is a treasure chest of tools, tips, and righteous gear to help you bash out a novel in a month. There’s even a baby calendar that came with it. Ha. Now if only there was an ounce of organisation in my soul. (Although I have in the past, jotted down so much crap in journals, registers, e mail drafts and saved texts, that now, just because I can’t find passages of my imagined brilliance, I feel stupid about how I short changed myself!)

On a prouder note, I went bowling yesterday for only the second time in my life, and just happened to thrash the couple of 6 feet tall boy competitors. There was also one fair, economist chick who given the chance, I bet, would elope with my gift-bearing Santa Claus boyfriend. But she can’t bend, as observed on the bowling runway or whatever you call the ALLEY, of course! I told him this. Plus she’s the kind of girl to whom if you pay a compliment for her undoubtedly thick shiny long black hair and logically then ask her what shampoo, she will say “L’Oreal” but suffix it with a smirk plus “Why, what an odd question!” Stupid bitch banker with no friends, I’m sure. Anyway. Bottom line: I thrashed them all, got one strike, and while my forearm hurts today, the winning part made the compulsory purchase of socks for 40 bucks totally worth it!

And now if you’ll excuse me, I have one short story to bang into some shape.

8 comments:

Mister Crowley said...

D'you suppose chetan bhagat gifted himself one of those Novel Writing thingies?

manu said...

girls get all the goodies...

Inayat said...

so we're just calling him boyfriend then? do give him a name in your book ok? (dayam this is fun)

and you do saved texts too? ~freaky~ and high five!

Purely Narcotic said...

Plus she’s the kind of girl to whom if you pay a compliment for her undoubtedly thick shiny long black hair and logically then ask her what shampoo, she will say “L’Oreal” but suffix it with a smirk plus “Why, what an odd question!” Stupid bitch banker with no friends, I’m sure.,How were you so sure?

Nimpipi said...

MC: Bhai mere, say what you have to about chetan bhagat, the clot sells.

Manu: Iss twue, but I could share 'em with youuuuuuuuuu.. :)

Inayat darling: No name, what to do. imagination died. I'll make u meet him then you suggest.

Purely N: Because she was hanging with us losers

Indyeah said...

same question as Mr Crowley...

:D
all that selling-shelling doesnt do a thing :(
the fella still sucks!

Inayat said...

REALLY? I suggest now!

Nimpipi said...

Indy: babe, all that selling does everything. we have readers, hence we post. Authors have takers, hence they write. strange sort of solitary. ultimately, you got to be popular. and you can't be popular without basic quality cut off.

All in my humble opinion, of course. Although, not only does the fellow suck, he's got a reputation of being quite a sick bastard. Journalists know these things;)

Inayat: Had to scroll up to the last line of the post to see how you meant, but yes, I see now. Aye.