Ye gods and little fishes, the miracle has finally occurred and I've actually finished the first draft of Hallsfoot's Battle, hurrah! It's come in at 129,438 words and I'm smiling. I particularly love the ending - and not just because I could then lay my head on my keyboard and give a deep and heartfelt sigh. I have celebrated this momentous event with a chocolate biscuit - thus proving that I do in fact know how to live on the edge. Now all I have to do is find the courage from somewhere to face the mammoth edit to come. I suspect that won't happen until after our holiday for sure.
All of which effort and joy and pain obviously means very little to some of my writing friends - one of whom today took my breath away utterly and absolutely by saying (by implication) that only full-time writers are real writers. Arrgghhh!!!! Words fail me. If we're fighting such a battle against those of us who are supposed to know better, what hope for the rest of society?? Deep deep sigh. I can only hope it was supposed to be a joke. If it was, then a bad one and badly done, I feel. But I would like to state my case now and state it well (thus the capitals): ANYONE WHO WRITES ANYTHING AT ALL AND CREATES A POEM, A NOVEL, A SHORT STORY, A PIECE OF FLASH FICTION OR ANY OTHER PIECE OF WRITING OUT OF IT IS DEFINITELY AND FOR ALL TIME A REAL WRITER. And I don't care whether that real writer has one, two or 102 other jobs they have to do as well, that remains the truth. May those who think otherwise slink away and reconsider the error of their ways indeed ...
Anyway, speech over, phew, though as one last thought perhaps my new strapline should be: Anne Brooke - unreal writer and proud of it. It's an idea for sure. But remaining on the subject of writing, here's today's meditation:
The trick is
the right moment
and dwell in it.
for its breath alone
to touch you
and not to heed
the hasty words
the courage to wait
is the greatest courage
This morning, Lord H and I have braved the puzzlements of the Trinity Sunday service - always the most feared of all the services by preachers themselves - one old vicar of ours always used to take the day off and invite a guest preacher to muddle through the doctrine of the Trinity, a quite wise move really. No-one truly knows about it or understands it, and really we in the pews aren't that bothered one way or the other. But there were some good hymns and then pastries after the service to take our minds off it all. Frankly I think it's one of those issues that worry the clergy more than anyone normal. If you see what I mean.
Oh, and today's exciting Surrey news is that a human foot has been found in a refuse bin in Cobham. Lord H's comment was the police were probably getting angsty about it as it might have been recyclable, but I don't quite think he got the point there, myself. Anyway, they now appear to have found a whole woman in the bin, so presumably some stalwart policeperson had to go beyond the foot to see what else was there. Hell, we really know how to party here in the shires.
Tonight, there's sod all on TV, so we might get our Lewis DVDs out - it feels like that kind of evening. Talking of TV though, was it just me or was yesterday's episode of Primeval hugely substandard?? A lot of clunky action & acting and very very strained. I could see the denouement coming a mile off, groan ... It was quite laughable.
And here's this week's haiku, mainly in honour of yesterday's Race for Life, but sadly ironic in terms of refuse bin woman perhaps:
Today the colour
of hope is pink; women walk
to keep death at bay.
Today's nice things:
1. Finishing the first draft of Hallsfoot
3. Church amusements
Anne Brooke - keeping all her limbs in one place, thus far ...