This morning I sat down at my writing desk - a compact writers bureau that does a stellar job of keeping dust out - and stared at the dust on the windowsills, bedside tables and chest of drawers. I tried not to, but dust has the power to hypnotise me. It taunts me. Are you going to leave me here? What would visitors say? You’re useless. Pathetic. So I stopped writing, grabbed a cloth, and tried to wipe it out of existence.
Dust annihilated, I sat back down at my writing desk and started the writing task I’d originally intended to do. Then I noticed some of the dust had returned. What? When? How? Why? (Aren’t those questions I should have been asking my fictional characters?)
I decided that a more powerful tool was needed for the job – the Dyson. Several minutes later, I was confident that every particle of dust within a mile radius of my bedroom had been sucked out of existence. After all, the proof lay at the bottom of the Dyson.
I returned once again to my writing desk, only I’d lost all motivation to carry on with the story, which was set in hotel. There wouldn’t be any dust in a hotel; they’d have professional cleaners!
I decided to google dust – not the most exciting search, I know. But did you know that dust can be repelled with an electrical charge or drowned in water? Which gave me a couple of ideas. No. I’m not intending to wire the entire house for an electrical discharge or call out the fire brigade to soak the place down once that’s happened; a couple of murder-mystery plots have just emerged from my dust-filled imagination. (Might be a great way for a character to get several beefy firemen to call at her house, though. Another idea, perhaps?)
There may be too much dust in the world, but sometimes a little procrastination pays.