This is a bit of an experiment. I’ve downloaded the Windows Live Writer program based on a positive review over on LifeHacker. I had downloaded the program once before – and I know this because the settings are still in place for my old ‘scribofelidae’ blog over at Live Journal – but never really played with it. There are times where it would be nice to just enter my thoughts, when I am not online.
So, a test. To see what it looks like, to see how it feels. It would be great if I could use it to pull all the old journal entries from Live Journal out so that I could post them into Blogger, but I believe that is outside the scope of the program. Of course, the other option is just choosing to write any stray notes in Microsoft OneNote, and cut and paste them as needed. I suppose I would lose the time stamp option.
Again, this is all time wasting. I’ve come close to writing … something. Is this a block? Yes. No. Toronto was supposed to recharge me, and instead I’ve come home and wanted nothing more than to cocoon and languish. I’ve rearranged some things, moving a larger end table into the bedroom, where I now keep all my to-read books, which freed up space in my office to clear things off my desk and onto the now-empty shelf. It’s felt very crowded at my desk, physically and mentally, and I want to try writing with no distractions right in front of me. Nothing but a clear desk and whatever I’m working on. I’m still not entirely happy with the set up. More tinkering, more fiddling. I hope to finish it tomorrow. Or even tonight.
I’m absurdly pleased about my new end table, though. I look at it, so heavy with all the books, packed three deep, and get excited. And then I think that the space houses not only16 cubic feet of text but the ideas, the reflections, the souls of some hundred writers. I have well over 50 stand-alone novels and more than a few Year’s Best compilations, so I am sure 100 is a conservative estimate. All of those stories, all of these people, tightly packed together, sardines of the imagination, in this tiny space. You couldn’t fit them all into the lounge I’m sitting in at work, yet there they are, waiting for me, every night I go to bed.
Speaking of work, I suppose I should get to my desk. My fantasy of writing in an office while other people do their job has never abated. A communal studio, with natural light, low benches, green-growing things, neighborhood cat, tea kettle whistling, creative play. Ah, to work, to work.
PS: Ha … wouldn’t you know it! I tried to publish this entry through Windows Live Writer and didn’t it just go boing on me? So, this was entered the old-fashioned way. Either there is a setting I need to play with, here or on WLW, or they are not compatible. MS OneNote anyone? Oh well. More later.