Tuesday, 4 September 2012

Ain't No Cure for The Summertime Blues




Well, there is really. What started as a rainy and dismal summer, the first where I've been working through the holidays for over twenty years, has turned into quite an optimistic celebration of all things inspirational, dare I say, British? For a general pessimist, who'd like to be an optimist, but doesn't think I'll quite make it, there were moments of sparkle despite the rain.

I was meant to be writing, finishing the novel, using holidays as inspiration for the final chapters with a visit to Cornwall. But I never made it beyond the pasties of Padstow to the wilds of Zennor, so the place will have to stay within my imagination. I tried to write under a parasol on the beach in Tenerife, with a pad balanced on knees slimy from sunscreen, but it was hard to summon up the setting of my second book, a rainy Northern town, under the blazing Canary sun.



It's hardly a hardship all this distraction, but it does feed the imagination, maybe delaying the writing, but not stopping it. I have had some deadlines and freelance work to keep me going, but the summer and the occasional holiday have afforded me the space to read, to doze, daydream and imagine, inspiration lurks in the corners of my brain. I've been taking the advice of my tutor and trying to stick to reading YA fiction, so I've discovered Suzanne Collins The Hunger Games (that one even got my book phobic son reading on holiday), the wonderful Meg Rosoff's How I Live Now, sought out some Lynne Reid Banks from my early teens, and Paul Zimmerman's The Pig Man and diverted a little to Submarine. I've strayed from the path a little, after all, holidays were meant for re-reading The Great Gatsby. I must have been the only female in a long line of sunbeds not reading a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey.

All the ideas are simmering in my head, the long winter months will give me the time to write it down. I hope.

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