Tomorrow is Insecure Writers’ Support Group day, but I’m writing this early because tomorrow (Wednesday) I’m travelling to London, to the Albert Hall, to hear/see the Proms. They’re playing Shostakovitch’s Symphony number 11. Very exciting.
The summer has not been a good time for writing. Not enough time. Too many other things to do, nice things like a holiday to Ireland – and Proms. Now the evenings are drawing in and the light in the mornings, shining brightly through our windows only last week, has suddenly become dull, and I’m switching on the lights before making breakfast. The summer is over. Like many, I think of the year as beginning in September, because that’s when the academic year begins.
I have got very cross with myself for not doing any writing during the summer, especially as I’m not teaching. It’s been very difficult gathering up the threads of my novel every time when writing sessions are so far apart. However, I surprised myself last week by doing just that and carrying out some really useful editing. Note to self: must stop wanting to alter (improve?) the action in the beginning chapters.
Last February, I truly surprised myself by writing a poem, in common metre (6, 8, 6,8) for reading aloud, to pre-school children, all about dinosaurs. I’ve always convinced myself that I can’t do children’s and I can’t do poetry. Given the topic The Sea by my writing group, I scribbled the lines of my poem whilst on holiday in Shimla (in the very north of India), on those tiny scraps of notepaper provided in hotel bedrooms, singing to myself Amazing Grace (which, according to Wikipedia, is in common metre). There, Sudbury Writing Group, I did it for you.