A day focused on words today, or at least writing or thinking about them. Which has to be a good thing. First off, I've written a poem about magpies and coathangers today - always a challenging combination, but I think I've managed to say approximately what I wanted to. One hopes. Plus I've managed the morning's meditation piece:
Silver can set you free,
its seductive glitter
over your skin.
Wait for your measure
to be taken
according to the ability
the measure you make
being only your prayer’s
This morning, I've also added more to Hallsfoot's Battle and thank goodness it's proved rather more amenable to being written than it was yesterday. I'm now at well over 94,000 words and I've finally got Simon, Ralph and the mind-executioner all in the same place at the same time. About time really then. In this novel at least. Lord only knows what I'm going to do with them now, but I'm hoping it will prove explosive. In some measure or other ...
I've also added to my regular submissions file, and have sent off five more poems and a short story into the Great Beyond. They may well return to me unloved and (like Noah's dove) unable to find a place to set their feet, but at least I'll have tried, eh. After all that, I think I may well deserve a nap - I have to have something to prepare me for the week indeed.
Oh and there's good sudoku news, hurrah! For the first time ever and of course under Lord H's watchful eye, I have completed a diabolical killer sudoku in the Telegraph. And there weren't that many tears or bleatings (mine ...) either, so I feel I've done well there, Carruthers. Definitely time for a lie-down then - I don't want to strain something. Not so near to our holiday at least.
Tonight, we have a range of exciting programmes to look forward to on TV - what with The History of Christianity (though I can't say I'm much taken with the whole science/religion subject - it's so achingly last century ...), then Lark Rise for a spot of light relief, rounded off nicely with Jeremy Paxman's hearty helping of The Victorians. I'll be a better woman after all that, I can guarantee it.
And, talking of better women, I saw the first couple of hours of Love on a Branch Line yesterday - it's all very quaint and cute but rather dated. And I must admit that, being a country gal born and bred, it does bring on a large and irritated yawn when I see a programme based solely on the concept of a young man going to stay for a while in the country and having all the squire's three daughters stripping their clothes off and throwing themselves at him. Well, yawn and pass me the cliche monitor ... Obviously written by a heterosexual man with not much imagination then. Sigh. Speaking as someone who was born in the countryside - and worse than that, the Essex countryside! - it would be far more realistic if the daughters had simply torn him limb from limb and fed him to the pigs. After all, they'll eat anything, and a well-rounded pig will fetch a good sum at the market, thus allowing you to attract a suitable gentleman farmer with a large estate and several nubile young employees to pass your time with while your loved one is off fiddling his EU quotas. Which at least is a better cliche than the Branch Line one.
This week's haiku (inspired by yesterday's National Trust visit):
The winter garden:
a dazzle of crocuses
and lilting snowdrops.
Today's nice things:
2. Writing Hallsfoot
Anne's website - a killer instinct all of its own