rowan tree blossom

July 2018

July is a cold month usually and driving into town I can see the snow on the alps. I'm not allowed to ski any more on these artificial hips and knee so I have made a sled, a toboggan, and am looking for a farmer's nice snowy farm track to go tobogganing down. I just hope my little car copes with the icy roads getting there and that I remain sensible and don't go crazy on a steeper slope than my old bones can cope with. Crashing into anything except a nice big snow bank won't be good for the joints.

Writing has been a struggle in an atmosphere of distress. We have a group of parishioners and our vicar who want to 'modernise' in our grade 2 heritage church. Perfectly possible to do this without destroying the historic feeling of the church but the hard core group want chairs not pews, pulpit out etc. Aesthetics ignored. I've been trying to bridge the divide between the extremists and a bit of common sense but have been unable to do so. Sigh!

Never upset a writer. I have written to the National Heritage group in charge of the listed buildings, the local newspapers and informed the bishop of what and why I've done all this. Hopefully we will have a brake applied to the worst of the ideas. But all the fuss does not make for a creative atmosphere to write in.

Short stories still out with editors, a new one half done for the Dorothy Dunnet competition. The novel is going to be attacked this month as I get round the plot hole and make it work! Or burst in the attempt. My colleagues cannot help with this although their plot suggestions have been good. Only I can apply the 3Ds of writing and finish the wretched book.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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