Dear reader, I have been neglecting you shamefully over the past few weeks. I would love to tell you that it's because I've been busier than 10 men with the writing, the leaded glass work, the gardening, the being 50 and making the most of the dying days of summer.
But I'd be lying. I've simply been doing nothing. Certainly nothing worth putting pen to paper about. Or finger to key. Or whatever.
It's been mainly Facebook, if I'm honest *hopes that Tartarus isn't reading this on the Engine Room computer*
My daily grind at the moment is getting Sonshine off to school and getting Nero out for his 2-mile walk through the wood. Yes, the very same wood where I fondly imagined there to be a dead body wrapped in a hideous 70s quilt cover.
I do a lot of thinking when I'm out with Nero. Here are some of today's random thoughts:
I've brought 3 poo bags. Surely that will be enough....
What if I entered a poetry competition once a month? I could totally do that. I might even win something. Remember, you won that thing in the Library last year. Yeah, but probably no-one else entered that. There's a big difference between winning a £15 book voucher and £1000 from the Basil Bunting Poetry Award. Andrew Motion is the judge for that. Did I take that poetry book back to the library? Fuck, the fine will cost more than the book!
I hope these wellies don't start to chaff...
Is that a chantarelle mushroom? *has sniff. No scent of apricots. ignores the mushroom. Walks on*
What about writing a bit more of that play? The one about the elderly comic who comes home to Scotland to visit his daughters, finds love and a new lease of life? Who the fuck would want to watch that? It would be like paint drying. Oh wait. That's actually the plot for Last Tango in Halifax. Bastards. I should have written this when I had the idea in the first place. *consigns idea to mental bin*
I've only brought 3 poo bags. That won't be enough.
That's where I saw that body in the duvet. Except it wasn't a body of course.
oh look - a deer!
Right, let's practise this 1-hour presentation for the Tarot students in Greenock. *looks around. No-one there. Starts giving presentation. ALOUD. I talk out loud to no one for at least 15 minutes...getting into my stride.... when....*
JESUS - that's a two-bag shit, Nero. In fact, that's a shit that needs two pairs of hands, never mind two bags! That Leaves me ONE bag for the last mile. It won't be enough.
What about getting a writing festival going here? There could be poetry and flash fiction competitions for the schools? Maybe get the PTA to finance the prizes? Or publishers - after all, it would be educational. Or we could hire the Pavilion for the day - all of it - and have Scottish authors reading passages from their work and talking and answering questions. Maybe Ian Rankin? Alexander McCall-Smith....he's got a house in Argyll somewhere. Local writers could get involved too - we've got a few good ones! Myra (Duffy) and Jenny (Chaplin) could talk about self-publishing and sell their books? Local writing group could run workshops...... We could explore the format of the essay and the short story..... we could talk about recording our elderly relatives histories....we could have well-known poets too. Fuck, ARE there any well-known poets?! No. A Festival of Writing wouldn't ever get off the ground.
Note to reader - I don't actually think in brackets. I added them for your delectation and delight. Also, for googling purposes.
That's DEFINITELY a chanterelle.
Why does the dog insist on pissing on his own foot?
I need to get cracking on this book for the Tarot of Alexander (Daniloff). I've only written about 6 cards. What if he doesn't like what I've written? What if it's so completely off the mark he says that I can't continue? What if I can't actually write anything bout Tarot that anyone wants to read?
*remembers that she is half way through giving Tarot presentation to the trees. Starts talking aloud again. Hears polite cough behind her. Stops talking. Allows man with jack russell dog to hurry past*
I haven't blogged for AGES. No one will come back to read anything I post now....
Please, Nero, don't crap there.......it's someone's GARDEN *looks round apologetically and scrapes up a poop that really needs more than one bag to do it justice*
By this time I am back at my front gate. We've walked 2 miles. The dog is knackered. I am the only person in the world to return from a dog walk completely hoarse. I have given my 1-hour presentation aloud. Twice. I have what may or may not be a chanterelle mushroom in my pocket. Some random jack-russell-owning dog walker thinks they've met an utter basket-case with a greyhound.
*reads back over the blog posting*
I think he's right.