Knowing I could be sitting in the very hotel room where Hans Christian Anderson penned his craft should keep me glued to my writing, but instead, I find myself writing about writing. I’ve transcribed over twelve chapters of my story, but have to pause every so often for the nausea that overtakes me from this sappy sweet voice of my own creation! I return and continue to transcribe some more, editing as I go, but have to stop again. How did the charecters get so damn sappy? I simply must add some cynical dark sides to this work or it will be doomed to live as a cheezy novel suited to a church picnic. Oh it’s not that nothing bad happens, but the charecters are so wonderfully accepting that it makes me want to hurl. Or hurl the manuscript across the room.
The rain hasn’t let up since this trip began. But I forced myself out for thrift store finds yesterday! I was on the lookout for a vintage wool blanket to add to my collection, but I found some strange other fabric that’s almost thick as canvas! And big too! Couldn’t pass that up. Maybe a thin rug for a back porch. It feels like a tent. Great find for 50 kroner, (about 10 bucks).
And then I found this little piece that has a bit of candlewax on it, and a stained to be treated, but again, for two bucks, you can’t go wrong. I love this stuff! Did someone say rain?