It’s 1.30 in the morning, and I’ve almost finished the packing. In half an hour I must wake up my husband and daughter; we’ll be out of the door by 3am. My ipod has dropped its charge, so will be out of action for a few days, which is INFURIATING (it does it every few months or so, and then works perfectly; but it’s bloody typical it would happen NOW). There are jelly beans waiting to be enjoyed once we’re on the plane. Everything is under control, or as much as is reasonable, and I’m really looking forward to the heat, the food and the wine. Oh yes, and I’ve finished the First Draft.
170,461 words that all add up to one baggy behemoth of a narrative monster. I can’t wait to pull it all to bits. See you in 10 days!
(The reading list was whittled down to A Game of Thrones, Green, The Tiger’s Wife, and The Hobbit and Harry Potter And The Philosopher’s Stone, both of the latter to read with my daughter.)
The holiday has been, and gone. The weather was wondrously hot, with an occasional spectacular thunderstorm (sometimes three at a time) to keep things loudly interesting – there was even a mighty hailstorm, that left the garden flooded with lumps of ice ranging from marble to golf-ball size. The wine was potent, the food delicious. I finished the books I took with me – although not The Iliad, I ended up not packing that – and enjoyed them immensely. And I made notes. Lots and lots of notes. I’m world building again. I’ve even drawn a map, which I will shortly be redrawing and expanding, on ever larger pieces of paper… the socio-economic structure has worked itself out, as have the social mores, some of the laws, and the traditions tied to the seasons. The music I will need when the time to write this story finally comes, is building its list in my head. Once my daughter goes back to school, I will begin. I’m quietly excited.