I’m a writer, I have books published in the field of Mind/Body/Spirit, but I’m currently sending a novel round literary agencies. One has asked for the full manuscript. I can’t think about anything else. Sleep? What’s sleep? And I seem to remember having some nails once upon a time! Yet I also feel strangely calm, as though things are working themselves out and I can only wait.
Mic woke me before 7 this morning, leaping out of bed to get milk from the post office so that we could have tea and coffee respectively. Groan… I needed to stay asleep; there were foxes giving their strange, unearthly bark in the back garden and out in the street last night and the dog is terrified of them. I love them, but Dennis barks hysterically every time he hears them. Dragged myself downstairs to find one of the cats had thrown up on my computer table. Why they think it’s a good idea to make themselves sick all over electrical equipment is beyond me. Yuck! Had to clean mouse, keyboard and graphics tablet.
But going out into the cold, bright morning was a good thing. The sun is still low enough at this time of year to pick out landscape features and it showed, very clearly, the shapes of the medieval strip farming down by the river. We take the dog there often as it’s only 10 minutes walk from the house but is a world away from streets and cars. There are herons and rabbits, foxes, squirrels and muntjac deer, as well as the usual dog walkers and their charges.
Having a dog is an amazing thing. You make legions of new friends, all of whom go by names like Dasher’s Mum or Neville’s Dad. They greet you when your paths cross and you walk round with them exchanging news (initially about your respective canine charges, but, as time goes on, increasingly about family, friends, operations, deaths, holidays, children and all manner of subjects you would never normally share with people whose first names you don’t know). But should you meet those same people out of dog walking context, say in the middle of town and without dog, they will look at you blankly, quite obviously not recognising you.
Ok, that’s enough for my first blog. I’m off to watch rubbish TV and bite my nails some more and try not to think about how my book is faring with the agent who is reading it (but whom, it has to be said, was very enthusiastic about it).