Solid ink
It's cold here.
How cold is it?
It's so cold that when I went to refill my pen yesterday I discovered that the ink had gone solid. (It's dried out, I thought irrationally, before I realised, it's ice) and it took me half an hour to defrost it on a radiator.
It's so cold that when people (or large dogs) come inside from the outside, they radiate cold across the room. It's like opening a fridge door.
On the other hand, as of yesterday, the book is being written again, and this makes me happy.
How cold is it?
It's so cold that when I went to refill my pen yesterday I discovered that the ink had gone solid. (It's dried out, I thought irrationally, before I realised, it's ice) and it took me half an hour to defrost it on a radiator.
It's so cold that when people (or large dogs) come inside from the outside, they radiate cold across the room. It's like opening a fridge door.
On the other hand, as of yesterday, the book is being written again, and this makes me happy.
Labels: cold [the extreme kind], ink, The Graveyard Book
