“Today is your birthday. Actually, it was February 29… and that was you. Of course you were born on a leap year. You couldn’t have had just an ordinary day every year like the rest of us.”
As for you visitors, and especially, followers. I can’t follow everyone back who follows me. However, don’t think I don’t notice you have been here.
I was also proofreading yesterday and I thought once more about the fact I am yet again unsure and uncomfortable about some of the things I have written, and I am writing about, in a manuscript. But that is also an aim. We should be unsure and uncomfortable at times in both our writing and in our reading.
Here, just north of London, may I at least have a cup of coffee first, I just woke up. My personal view in the face of all of this now increasingly may be summed up in six words: “I don’t know, I wasn’t there.”
The first time I ever mentioned – back in university nearly three decades ago – that I was interested in visiting France, my mother turned to me and was immediately harshly negative: “Are you nuts? They hate us.”
Remember this too. When we’re younger, we are often more challenged by what we believe to be older people’s “narrow-minded” and “old-fashioned” opinions. Someday, though, *you* will also be the older relative your younger relations will almost certainly consider out of touch and maybe even batty…
It’s not the history so much as the fiction that lights up the pages.
I have said here previously that I don’t count words when I write. (I disagree with the idea of measuring “progress” by daily “bean counting.”) I don’t even really look at page numbers. Early on in a manuscript especially, I just write and write and write.
Ladies, your man may want to say something extra-special to you today, but he may not be able to find the right words. Be understanding, please. It has always been such with many of us men.
Over a year and a half since I put its first words on a blank screen, Tomorrow is feeling increasing “today”: daily it is more complete. I had laughed to myself while sitting at that La Clusaz table as well that whenever it is finally finished, you may again think as you read some of it – as with parts of Conventions – that I have lost my creative mind.
“In San Francisco, the first place I work in USA, I meet an American woman who loved my French accent. I learned after that to speak it with women in America more. ‘I love your accent,’ they always say that,” he chuckled.
I had also anticipated I would not be writing much this week in France due to the fact four of us are unexpectedly sharing a small holiday apartment. So I had decided that I would at least read some while here.
Writers: NEVER EVER EVER apologize for YOUR imagination and YOUR creations.
Writing is much like swimming: taking pointers while on land is helpful of course, and having a lesson or two or three in the water is necessary, but ultimately you must attempt to swim in the deep end entirely on your own.
And I find when I return to the keyboard I may write whatever initially jumps to my mind. I may ask myself, “It has been a few days, so how is ‘Miss Sánchez‘ today? Maybe she’s off to see Mont Saint Michel? And perhaps she has a dog now?”