I hate having nothing to do. Some people cope quite well with life at a certain pace, but I do not. In fact, I sometimes wonder if the worst thing in the world for me would be to win the Lottery. Life with all the major challenges met (which, you have to admit, would happen if you suddenly had millions) would I think leave me slightly crazy.

“Nooooooooooooooooooooooo! Alright yes.”

I’ve just finished one project, that I enjoyed so much I happily got up early each day to do it. The fact that it’s done, though, leaves me without the mental crutch it had provided. I’ve several other plots I could be working on, but I’m not able to rush into them yet, none of them have gripped me the same way. Plus, I am tired. I feel that while one side of my brain is telling me to rush on to the next project, the other is close to just switching off and sleeping, whether I want it to or not.

So I want to work, but I’m tired, and I need to work, but I don’t. I think what I might to for a bit is read, even; read writers I haven’t had a chance to read for a while, and see what it does to my mind.

Isn’t this Heaven? From metafilter.com

Sooooo… anything you’d recommend? And that goes for Blogs, as well, I’d love to see what’s out there. Have a good weekend!

The sky above my head this morning is a still and padded parasol of clouds with all the autumn colours.

Its silence is tempered by the ice blue wind that blows around my face, my scarf. It promises me that soon, Christmas will be here, bringing back my old friends.

Painting by Heidi Malott

Yesterday in Ireland was freezing, one of the first really cold days of the season. I felt myself very righteous as I took myself off for my swim at lunch, thinking of just how much I was sacrificing for leaving the warmth. And there’s always that bit of wet hair at the back of your neck to annoy you for the rest of the afternoon. However, being the trooper that I am, I got there and got into the water.

I do 15 laps each session, and I count down from 15 to 1 while I do. Around about lap 13 I noticed an unusual optical illusion of the swimmer next to me. For whatever reason, I couldn’t see his legs. The nature of swimming is that it is head in the water, breath, head in the water, breath, so you normally don’t get a clear look at someone. But at the turn, I gave him a glance.

And I was wrong. It wasn’t some optical illusion. The swimmer in the lane next to me, almost if not quite keeping pace in the 50 metre pool, had no legs. And I don’t mean he had the body of a dwarf or that he had shortened stubs. He wore a pair of red mens’ swimming shorts, and I could see no legs whatsoever. At all.

His method of locomotion was to lift his arms in the usual way, and twist his torso in the water so that he was moving. I noticed, though, that there was something funny about that as well, and on lap 7 I saw it. One of his arms ended smoothly around his forearm. He only had one hand. 

This was getting almost dangerously, surely? How was he able to lift his head out of the water to breathe? There was no specific concern on the lifeguards, everything was nonchalant about it.

I finished my laps at the usual time, and found myself at the end of the pool just taking a moment. The level of tenacity I’d just witnessed was more than I can remember. I called one of the lifeguards over, a person I know. She laughed at my surprise.

“Oh him! Yeah, he’s one of our regulars, he’s on the swim team for the University.”

Unbelievable. I shared a pool with the Black night yesterday. Fair play.

Why, yes, it is a cheap laugh. Why do you ask?

Yes, it is. That’s al you’re getting, go and watch it. Go on!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hpNp8WdQOoo&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Our Writing

Stuck in our heads

Hallowed be thy transcription.

Thy pages come

Thy printing be done

On paper as it is in our minds.

Give us this day our daily scripples

And forgive us our trespasses into cliche

As we forgive those who trespass into cliche against us

And lead us not into the realm of the hackneyed,

But forgive us our writing sins

Amen

Hail Authors

Full of Skill

The Words be with thee

Blessed are thou among the slush pile

And Blessed is the fruit of thy printer.

Holy Writer

Mother of our words,

Pray to gather readers,

Now and on the last page,

Amen

Glory be to those who are published; as they first lick their pencil, is now and will be via translation, world without end, amen.

The alarm goes at 6am, and I slip down to turn on the computer, and put in the password. By the time I shower, dress, and come back downstairs, it will be powered up and ready to go.

And away we go.

I have everything plotted out, so I know exactly what the scene/chapter will be. That leads to almost a manic typing that has lead to 1500 words, in one session, in half an hour.

And in half an hour, that’s it. Done. Out the door to the bus, work and my daily life. Until the next morning. It hides away, like an alter ego in my closet, until the next time I turn the computer on, and let the voices flow.

So I recently had a little bit of media exposure regarding The Stone, and the coincidence that exists regarding Paddy Shaw’s painting. If you like, you can see it here.

My father-in-law saw it Sunday, and said that really I should capitalise on the exposure it generates. The fact is that I do have an idea for a series of novels, a series that would take years to compete. The idea of starting it almost makes me exhausted, because I can’t imagine ever finishing it.

Diane Nyad isn’t in it.

But the reality of the situation is that nothing comes easy. Nothing. It takes a real effort, one that makes things hard, to change situations. 

It looks like things might be changing.  Maybe. Just maybe.