I’m the health-screening person at work. No medical training required. Ask the questions, take the temperature. It amounts to a few minutes of work at the top of the hour, when people are coming in, and then a whole lot of downtime while I wait for stragglers and maintain company standards.

It’s not a difficult job, but no one else wants it. The downtime gets to people. They don’t know what to do with themselves, when you take away the work and the television.

Obviously, I work with my novel. I’m getting full-time writing time, and I’m grateful. I’m writing this blog post at work, and I’m grateful. It’s a massive change from crawling home half-dead at the end of the night and fighting for half a page.

I don’t know what being front and center with my writing will do in the long run. I’m hoping it will net me a cheerleading section, and maybe somebody who’s willing to make cupcakes for the release party.

Right now, I can tell you that people are noticing. People ask me about the novel, ask whether they can read it when it’s finished. Ask what I’m doing.

I think they’re rooting for me. It can be hard to tell, sometimes.

Yesterday, a coworker asked me what I’m trying to write. Let’s give her the benefit of the doubt, and assume she means trying to write when people aren’t interrupting me. My handwriting isn’t that bad.

I told her it was a novel.

She thought about it for a few seconds, and then decided that she would just bring a book.

Well, I did. It’s just the Do-It-Yourself version.

In her defense, I don’t have the faintest idea what she does for a hobby. I should work on that kind of thing more. Networking, networking.

But a book? My project is a book.