Last week was busy with birthday celebrations and appointments, and it was all fine except that I don’t like to squeeze so much into such a short timeframe. It was different before. There was a time I’d be out two or three nights a week, plus whatever I got up to on the weekend. I was younger than and life was different generally, and one advantage I had that mostly I would go from work to whatever social escapade I had planned – drinks or dinner, with someone I knew, or on a speculative date.
It’s the nature of my life now that it will become quiet again for the next 10 days or so. It would be better to spread the festivities more evenly, but in winter we sow and in summer we harvest.
Yesterday was the Labour day holiday, so at least I had the occasion to catch-up after days full of movement and excess. Yesterday I watched an old TV program on YouTube – The Invaders – and had a nap in the afternoon listening to Richter’s take on the Four Seasons. Later in the day, I wrote.
There was a patch of about 3 months I got out of the habit of writing. I lost the groove and felt barren of inspiration or even the basic capacity to put words together in any pleasing combination. Interestingly, it seemed not to affect my writing here.
About three weeks ago, it came back to me. It was a Thursday night, and as I was reading, I found imagery coming to me and the words to describe it, all related to the book I’m writing now. I know how well these things are lost, so I set aside my book and noted them down. Since then, I’ve got back into a pattern of writing, and it feels both less complicated and quite satisfactory.
I could credit this turnaround to many things. It was bound to turn, and I knew that all along. I pushed at it, but I also told myself to be patient – you don’t lose it, it’s just that sometimes it goes on vacation.
Helping it to return was the correspondence I had with a friend’s mother. I think I mentioned how she discovered how I wrote and wanted to read something? Well. she read my first book in about a week and was full of it. She told me how I must get it published and good it was and how much she liked the style, and so on. It was gratifying, but while I don’t dismiss such commentary, I hold myself to a higher standard. I don’t want something merely good enough to publish – even if she thinks it’s much better than that. It has to measure up to what I expect of it, which is nothing to do with its commercial prospects.
Still, just the to and fro in answering her questions and responding to her exuberance. was enough to get my creative juices flowing again. I began to think of the book I’m working on now, the second book, and where I was stuck – about a third of the way into the second draft. That’s when it returned to me.
I’ve been writing since and relatively pleased with the output. On Sunday, I had lunch with the boys. At one point, we each said what we’d do if we had enough money to get by without seriously working. One said he’d set-up a men’s shed. Another said he’d get into fashion. The third said he’d like to get into dancing (which was mind-blowing – he’s never shown much interest or aptitude in it previously). They all assumed for me that it would be writing, which was pretty correct.
Once more, I was urged to get something published. I figure I’ll get around to that when I get this book finished – though it’s not nearly as simple a matter as that.