When people want to know what the writer's life is like, I tell them it requires a tremendous amount of self-discipline, sticking to a self-imposed schedule with deadlines and goals, and wads and wads of optimism.It also requires a bra.
I follow very few rules but the number one rule is put on a bra. If I'm not wearing a structural undergarment, I don't feel like I'm working. I feel like I'm lounging around the house. Free 'n easy, nice 'n breezy, ya know? But with a bra, I'm a working woman.
Which brings me to my second rule: no sweat pants. Jeans, absolutely, and shorts when necessary but no sweats, no how. That just screams "My butt is truly lazy and I don't care!" And I'd rather keep that to myself. You don't need to know exactly how lazy my butt is.
Now, the thing is that we don't get a lot of visitors and when I say "we" I don't mean that in a royal sense because this is a truly democratic household, not a monarchy, except when it isn't. I mean, HH and I share this apartment as a workspace. I'm in the kitchen area and he's in the between-living-room-and-kitchen area. It's a very small apartment. But we do occasionally get a visitor, like our friends upstairs or the mailman. And when that person enters our workspace, I don't want them to see us lazing around - or looking like we're lazing around. I usually try to scowl and show them how much they're interrupting my work, without letting them see I'm actually updating my Facebook page.
Here is a picture of me hard at work (or is that just my Goodreads account I'm looking at?). Note the serious expression which is a sure sign I'm wearing a bra.
