Out yesterday to the HARROGATE ROYAL PUMP ROOM MUSEUM to look at the items in their new exhibition ONLY HUMAN. It's an interesting mix of pots and ornaments and objects all depicting people or faces. And my task - which I have chosen to accept for TUESDAY 26th MAY- is to tell tales related to some of these items. A good visit, but I need to go back, because some objects speak louder than others, but they may be lying . . .

Today I've been playing around with a few ideas for a new novel. Have decided, this time around, to try to do more of the planning first.

Labels: museum, objects, tales

  ¶ 11:48 AM

Today, trying to get my head together about some other angst entirely, an explanation popped into my head. It's the answer to the question, beloved of puzzled children everywhere :"What's it like Being a Writer?" And this is what came into my mind, though who knows from where:

Ready?

At the risk of sounding sentimental, being a writer is rather like being caught in A.A. Milne’s original Hundred Acre Acre Wood. (The Ernest Shepherd version!)

There’s Tigger days, when you have lots of energy and drive, and your writing seems to be going well, and you are maybe unreasonably bouncy and self-centred.

There’s Pooh Bear days, when you plod along, often mistakenly despite the limits of your poor brain but where you know the essential thing is to keep going, in a fog of hope, no matter what.

There’s Piglet days, when it’s all really, really a bit too much for you, and though you might have some good ideas, they might not turn out to be good ideas and could you please just have somebody’s paw to hold.

There’s Rabbit days, when you feel totally on top of things, and you’re actually rather well organised, and can get quite tetchy with friends and aquaintances who get in the way.

There’s Eeyore days when all you understand is deep, deep gloom, and you know nothing will go right because the whole world of books and publishing is against you, and there’s no point in trying anyway, because it will all go wrong.

There’s Owl days, when you’ve sure that you’ve hatched a very wise and praiseworthy plan, and when all your work seems to be the very best writing you’ve ever done, and accomplished and clever at that. Only others know differently.

There’s Kanga days, when you need to care for yourself, and do what’s best for you and your health and your general tidiness and well-being, because you know it’s good for you.

There’s Roo days when you’re just way too interested in all sorts of special things to settle to any writing at all.

And there’s Christopher Robin days, when you know that all these different friends need watching patiently and lovingly, and that all will probably be sorted out happily, and that the important thing is to have serious fun while you’re playing. Because there are far less happy places you could be.

Labels: Being a Writer, explanation, Hundred Acre Wood

  ¶ 6:59 PM