Almost my first email of the day was a poetry rejection (groan ...) which is never under any circumstances pleasant. However, I have impressed myself by simply sitting down and sending the pieces out to someone else, and also submitting a separate sample of flash fiction to another market. Just for luck and to appease the Gods of Rejection. As you do. Astonishingly I didn't even need to take a calming pill, so the HRT must indeed be on top form.
Anyway, I've managed another 1000 words of Hallsfoot's Battle today, and have now (hurrah!) moved on from the Ralph/Jemelda scene and am beginning the Annyeke/Library of Gathandria scene. So that's progress. Goodness alone knows what Annyeke is going to do about the great fire, but she'll have to think of something. The snow-raven and the mind-cane are both with the exiled Elders, so they're no help. But, then again, Annyeke is used to thinking on her feet when the Gathandrian Elders mess up, so I'm sure she'll rise to the occasion ...
Oh, and I must say how utterly incredibly stunning was last night's trip to the theatre. If you ever under any circumstances get even half a chance to go and see Someone Who'll Watch Over Me, then drop everything and go. It's humane, deep, tragic, rich and poetic. All at the same time. At the end of it (and I'll warn you - it's long. We didn't leave the theatre till gone 10.45pm), they got a standing ovation. And they - and the play - deserved it. I'd see it again, no problem. And I rarely see things again, unless they're Shakespeare. Fabulous. I'm still mulling it over now. And will be for some time, I feel.
But back to the routine: I've played golf with Marian today. It's great to be back in the golfing routine post-Christmas. Though I was rubbish, I must say, and Marian even won the game, dammit. By two shots! That never happens usually ... I must obviously get my act together and pretty damn quickly too. Mind you, my glorious miracle shot was when my ball landed full-square in the middle of the pond on the 6th and just bounced straight across onto the green, as the ice was so thick. Bliss. That's the way to do it ... Marian was speechless. Not sure I could do it again though.
Meanwhile, here's this morning's meditation poem:
You measure your life
to the final speck.
Still you miss
and your life
between your fingers.
Watch it fade
to a deeper reckoning.
I've just finished Alan Bennett's novella, An Uncommon Reader - a little jewel of a book about what happens when the Queen takes up reading. It's witty, sharp and totally charming - and is only somewhat tarnished by what I think is a rather sloppy ending. Unfortunate, that. Up until the last page, I was all set to give it 5 stars but I'm afraid it will end up with only 4. Definitely worth a read though and it won't take long either. Bennett is just so damn clever.
Tonight, I'll be glued to the last part of The Diary of Anne Frank. Oh Lord, but after last night's poetic depths of contained theatre grief, I'm sure it will finish me off entirely for the weekend. Which may of course be a good thing. Odd how I feel that the highlights of both my stage and TV year have come in the first week or so of January. It's going to be tough to beat either of them. Lay on, Macduff. As they may or may not say.
Today's nice things:
1. The theatre - as it's still reverberating around my head
2. My miracle golf shot
3. Carrying on with Hallsfoot
Anne's website - in contemplative mood ...