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The quiet hours

It's near enough 11pm (scratch that, it is 11pm - the bells are chiming) on a Friday night and I'm sitting in bed, scantly dressed (it's warm in here), book in hand and suddenly I'm smiling. I'm smiling because I have missed being able to sit in this room full of books and hear the turning of pages without the background noise of drunk people or music or the smell of cigarette smoke or weed drifting into my window; without knowing I will be woken up in the early hours so I can steal these and read late. It makes me smile because I love, more than anything, to fall into a book completely.

Admittedly Tigers in Red Weather is currently strewn, along with my cuddly toy of choice at home, behind this laptop but alas I had the itch to write. I want to capture this feeling and put it into words so I can again gain the sweet taste in my mouth right now.

I feel like I should be in a YA novel, or a TV show, or am a stupidly young, naive and geeky Carrie from Sex in the City. But it feels good to just want to write and want to read and want to be all wordy. Even if it does make me sound like a pretentious so-and-so.

One of the reasons I want to do Nanowrimo this year is so I force myself to get some quiet word time. Today I spent six (yep, six) hours watching daytime TV and at the end of it I felt yuck. I feel helpless in my own body sometimes but through words, as silly as it sounds, I can run a bit. I can feel like I can actually do things. Yes, sitting and watching Gilmore Girls from 2-4pm on 5* is lovely; in fact, that show is my exception to the creativity rule because Lorelai and Rory manage to make me feel like I can actually do things, whereas endless Food Network just makes me damn hungry.

I want to write. Or book. (To book is now a book-related verb in my world, okay?) I just want my career to revolve around books somehow because, really, that's what I know. I know how to read and edit and appreciate the written word. And I love doing it. The fact that I can sit and write (well, ramble) about it for nearly ten minutes on a blogging site says it well enough (though my coherency is probably debatable).

It's just one of those moments where you stop and think 'this is nice, I want this more often' and then you feel all fuzzy. (Yes, I do realise I am going to end up alone, surrounded by guinea pigs and books.) I know it makes me sound silly, but feelings like this are meant to be silly because they're nonsensical and lovely and like a big hug or a cup of tea.

In a couple of months when I'm feeling stressed I can look back at this and think 'hey, that's how I can feel good again' and voila. And that, dear reader (ha pretentious!), is the beauty of the written word.

I'll leave you with an appropriate quote, which just so happens to be my favourite: "The best moments in reading are when you come across something - a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things - that you'd thought special, particular to you. And here it is, set down by someone else, a person you've never met, maybe someone long dead. And it's if a hand has come out, and taken yours." - Alan Bennett, from The History Boys

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