Sunday, 19 August 2007

Another wonderful day in my over busy life. Hey, the sun may not be shining but I have friends and life is great, just wish I had more time.
Last night my lovely daughter Melanie was googling my name again and phoned to say one of my poems - To My Daughter, My Books...' - had been read and appreciated by a senior editor at a publishing company in New York. Checked today and was thrilled to find that this editor had said my poem was 'beautiful'. How much we blossom when we are praised. Checked her (the editor) out on the world wide web and sent her an email. I imagined most people in the States to be in bed at that time - around eleven a.m. here in the UK. However, when I checked my emails I found that she'd read my email and replied. She sounded so nice; I feel I've found another friend. As she, Lori, said she will check out my blog I will have to get on and get this moving, details filled in, photo in place. Not an expert on some of these matters so, if you stop by here, please be patient with me.
After my writers' week away there was much to do: clothes washing had piled up, mail accumulated - you know the 'a bomb has dropped on this place' feel. By mid-afternoon I could stand it no longer so I left the rest of the papers to be sorted and notes typed up chores for another day, applied my bottom to the chair, and got to work on my latest poem. Feel 'right' when I'm writing. The novel I'm working on needs rewriting in parts and I have a short story to send off to a magazine. I will attend to these matters ASAP. Back to the old 'time' thing again, hey?
My final thought for today - a snippet of poetry:

We are the music makers,
We are the dreamers of dreams
Wandering by lone sea breakers
And sitting by desolate streams,
We are the movers and shaker
Of the world forever, it seems.

resolutions

Just returned from a week away with other writers; around 300 or so of us. Went on the same writers week last year and, as then, I have returned uplifted and raring to go - and also slightly tired after working each day and partying most nights.

Writing is a lonely business and, consequently, at times one is troubled by self doubt. The initial effect of these weeks away is renewal and resolution. After I returned last year I began my first novel. (I haven't said but I am a published poet) As the year went by too many other things ate away at my precious time; you know, the daily round, the common task. During the coming year I am determined that the writing must come first; dust may accumulate, supplies in the fridge run low, letters remain unanswered - it shall be so.