Something I found in a notebook

The best novels are written longhand, begun on black leather sofas with a mug of black tea in a hardback handmade decorative notebook and an author in a dressing gown with an uncomfortable back.
The best novels are also brutally searingly honest, so I must admit it's a black coffee in front of me on the wooden arty cube thing, I don't know why I said tea, I never drink tea. Nearly drank it yesterday at lunch time but always have coffee in the morning. I probably said it purely because this is in longhand, and tea is a shorter word than coffee. And anyway this isn't a novel, it's only writing practise. I already have two almost novels to my name, to my credit, two people (excluding me) have read novel one, no people (including me) have read novel two.
Lampreys, animals that look like a mouthy sock, drag rocks around the river bed, as foreplay, then they spawn, a strange fit of egg burying sperm squirting and then they are so wrecked by their love and children that they die and never latch their ugly mouth onto another animal in blood drinking bullemia again. Lots of things die for their kids, it's nothing new.
The best novels almost never digress into philosophical musings on lamprey fish while the author spills coffee on her dressing gown.