The deadline results, all finished and sent to far off America via internet carrier pigeons. A set of three reading cards for an educational package, to be published by Macmillan/McGraw-Hill. Now onto the next deadline, another poster for 5-7 magazine.
I've been thinking a lot recently. Probably not a good idea. I owe a big e-mail to my bloggy friend TLC, who started my Big Think inadvertently. It was an interesting post about a 'problem' a lot of - especially female - creatives have, in sticking to one thing at a time - it's Monday it must be a textile day, it's Tuesday it must be hand weaving...oh look, it's Friday, let's play about with some soap making. I took myself firmly in control over this some years ago, but it's been to the detriment of my writing. I have an odd relationship with writing. It is without doubt the thing I absolutely enjoy doing most in the world - more than painting, more than drawing. When I made my solemn and binding oath to my dead parents, at the tender and over-dramatic age of twelve, I vowed I would become a writer and an artist. For them. And began keeping a sketchbook and writing regularly. Now, I have always been better at writing than art, so I devoted more of my time as the years went on, to the art, as the writing would always fall off my fingers without effort - even if it was a bit purple prosey sometimes. The art - the drawing - was a struggle. It's only just got bearable, and I still work at it. I always had an over active imagination, but without the hand skills needed to visualise them. Anything you see now is the result of sheer slog. Now I realise that I haven't really written properly for years. I miss it. This blog has reminded me of how much dam' fun it is, and how it makes my heart sing, clears my head of ghosts and is generally an all round Good Thing. I've had a novel brewing in my head for about five years. I've made notes, but most of the plotting and amendments have been in my head. Thank God for a good memory. Now I've started to put it into words. I'm not sure if it's unreadable garbage, teenage-style meandering or just plain cringworthy. For the fooldhardy and curious, there's a link up there, under my profile; I aim to blog a new chapter every week, on Fridays, just when everyone is winding down and getting ready for the weekend*. It's nothing earth shattering and I never did aspire to be the next Virginia Woolf. But heck, it's good to be back on the horse.
*Unless you're an illustrator, in which case you'll be working.
I've been thinking a lot recently. Probably not a good idea. I owe a big e-mail to my bloggy friend TLC, who started my Big Think inadvertently. It was an interesting post about a 'problem' a lot of - especially female - creatives have, in sticking to one thing at a time - it's Monday it must be a textile day, it's Tuesday it must be hand weaving...oh look, it's Friday, let's play about with some soap making. I took myself firmly in control over this some years ago, but it's been to the detriment of my writing. I have an odd relationship with writing. It is without doubt the thing I absolutely enjoy doing most in the world - more than painting, more than drawing. When I made my solemn and binding oath to my dead parents, at the tender and over-dramatic age of twelve, I vowed I would become a writer and an artist. For them. And began keeping a sketchbook and writing regularly. Now, I have always been better at writing than art, so I devoted more of my time as the years went on, to the art, as the writing would always fall off my fingers without effort - even if it was a bit purple prosey sometimes. The art - the drawing - was a struggle. It's only just got bearable, and I still work at it. I always had an over active imagination, but without the hand skills needed to visualise them. Anything you see now is the result of sheer slog. Now I realise that I haven't really written properly for years. I miss it. This blog has reminded me of how much dam' fun it is, and how it makes my heart sing, clears my head of ghosts and is generally an all round Good Thing. I've had a novel brewing in my head for about five years. I've made notes, but most of the plotting and amendments have been in my head. Thank God for a good memory. Now I've started to put it into words. I'm not sure if it's unreadable garbage, teenage-style meandering or just plain cringworthy. For the fooldhardy and curious, there's a link up there, under my profile; I aim to blog a new chapter every week, on Fridays, just when everyone is winding down and getting ready for the weekend*. It's nothing earth shattering and I never did aspire to be the next Virginia Woolf. But heck, it's good to be back on the horse.
*Unless you're an illustrator, in which case you'll be working.
