Anyway, we’re well and truly back from
, and I’m feeling rather less French than I was when A. took this photo of me in France . Serious – or should I say grave? Orleans
Well, I’m concentrating.
But, as I say, back – and hard at it. For the first time in years I found myself, yesterday, staring at a blank screen wondering what on earth to write. The sci-fi novel I have been paid to re-vamp was so dreadful that I decided to re-draft it, from scratch. Same basic premise, but a new cast of characters, a new plot, new settings: the whole enchilada, as they like to say in the States. And that’s where I think I’m setting this thing: out West, where all kinds of weird things can happen, and the landscape is always interesting. Just the job for the extended chase sequences this thing needs. I’ve got half an outline and am now stuck. Tried to write yesterday and simply could not get going. It did feel rather like being twenty-five all over again: wanting to be a writer but not having a clue what to write. Still, I have a weekend alone coming up. It is, as they say in cattle country, time to shit or get off the pot.
However, today I am off to
to catch up with my son. It was my birthday two days ago, and it’s his tomorrow – so we’re going to have a couple of beers, eat something unsuitable, and exchange gifts. It looks as though we’re in for another sunny warm day – so the place will be heaving. Did I say ‘another’ sunny day? Yes, summer finally arrived a week or two ago. For the first time in three years we’ve been feeling the heat of the sun on our backs for several successive days – and so has the garden. The strawberries are appearing faster than we can eat them, the raspberries are about to follow suit, and the currants are colouring up. And look at the elder flowers: late, but prolific. I should be making cordial, which we did when our kids were young.... Gorgeous with carbonated water and an ice-cube or two. York