WIP | Emma Undercover

So, this is my second week at the Warm Fuzzies Blogfest. The mission is to give a clue about what we scribes are working on. The above photo will tell you so much about my work in progress that actually it’s hardly worth writing the book. My dear manager Rosina, tells me that there are more than enough books about transvestite stationery salesmen and that the genre is worn out. She is a bit of a tree book nostalgoid to be honest. ( Remember the days when the big six dinosaurs used to rule the world and they ripped down all the trees so that there were only 20 literosaurus wrecks who were allowed to have paper to write on). However, if the book is not what she thinks then you guys are bound to be able to work it out, post your guess in the comments below…

As for inspiration and music whilst writing, my own requirement is actually nothing but silence, some kind of neutral middle distance to stare into and coffee. I need at least an hour to think down to the kind of depth I want to be at. I don’t want any distractions and I can be absolutely horrid to seekers of keys, bicycle pumps, menu suggestions and telephone sales-slaves. If I’m writing about a kiss I want to be a warm lip. If I’m in the street I want to hear the sounds. When I was a serious poet I used to think for weeks about what my subject was like – you know – what does a meadow mean?

Dear Oh dear – too much “I am an ARTIST” stuff. I have had far more immediate concerns today – particularly regarding tattooed breasts. Two ladies whom I encounter during my bus driverly duties have tattooed orbs. One of them wears her breasts au sauvage under a low necked vest. I can see that some kind of toothed serpent is rising from somewhere around her nipple and I must confess to an immense curiosity about the rest of the design – I mean is there a basket and a guy with a flute down there somewhere? I really don’t like to stare or ask. The other lady is something of an official figure and wears an important green luminous jacket. On sunny days a smudgy blue bouquet peeks out searching for warmth and photosynthesis. I can’t imagine there is a hidden flower tub or vase can you?

Now, I know that men would only want me for my mind and soul, but I do wonder if cleavaged tattooed breasted women become offended if males allow their eyes to break away from intellectual and emotional eye contact now and then. A while ago a friend sent me an intriguing photo from Japan. If you can’t bear the thought of the needle and ink but you want to catch the eye, these revolutionary scarves might help.