In terms of writing its been my laziest week in a long time. Somehow many other things took precedent this week with new additions to the extended family, little niggles that needed niggling out, and dreaded garden duty. Which is a little like writing, sometimes it's just hard to begin sometimes, but once you get going, well, it kinda takes you over.
Yesterday morning I began to re-lay the patio outside and then I tackled an old compost heap at the end of the garden left over from previous tenants. Might not have been so bad if the sun hadn't re-appeared from no-where this week. A bit like Lord Lucan, without the Lucan.
It seems the warm corridor sprang buzzing feckers to life, and flies or midgets, or whatever you call them, who seemed happy to get high off the pong from the heap. I mean why would anything that can fly choose to spend that time over a sh*t pile, unless it had some cheeched effect?
No sorry, one can't be having that. I'd planned for a quick shift and a weekend of writing to follow, but one thing led to another.
I was never one for green fingers, but with little or nothing to work with, somehow they did - for one weekend only - go green. Normally at this point I'd say something like 'Dan Boyle would be proud,' but it's a Sunday evening of a Bank-Holiday weekend so let's not ruin it by talking politics.
I eventually finished just after lunch time today, pleased enough to have a BBQ with family, which always goes down well. Making ready for Oz I reckon, where the olde Barby ain't so reliant on the weather. I even took in a hurling match in the evening. It's surprising what you see sometimes. Years go by like many a match, but some things still bring up some good memories.
I was supposed to start my second book this week, but spent most of it working on a rough outline to guide me. I find I loosely use structure at the start, but by draft 3, its made its way into the writing in need of more serious attention.
Booker's World was not driven by plot, but character driven, so this is a new test. I wonder if other writers doubt stuff as they think about stuff they are about to write. Whether they can cut the cloth? I'm sure there are many confident writers also, but when you are driving your own direction, it sometimes lets seeds of doubt creep in.
Another bout of dealing with officaldom this week. Revised business plan, some completed works in writing and directing and a clear path to follow.
I've long time felt a certain bias towards the Arts in Ireland. Culturally and artistically we are a proud nation, but try to sing off that hymn sheet to the powers that be. It's funny how the biggest gangster of them all, Charles J, was a notable supporter and collector of Arts.
How we could do with someone for a while in that role again, throwing complete abandon to the winds and spending what money we have at our disposal in education, health, artistic endeavor and ideals the world adopt.
You know, free-thinking bohemians with a liking for the top-shelf and critical debate that ends in a punch-up between Ollie Reed and Richard Harris, with much merriment in its aftermath. Maybe even laugh Brian Cowen out of it should he try to gain admittance. Perhaps even allow Ahern in if he parts with some of that after-dinner dough in support of some Northside painter who paints only in black!
Apologies, political waffling again. But then again, isn't that what politics is mostly about in modern society. To imagine men died for that only lessens their memory and selfless sacrifice. This time 5 years from now we will be celebrating the 100th anniversary of the Easter Rising, which put us on footing for Independence and a chance to place ourselves among the nations of the World again. I know the Ireland of today is not the one they longed and died for.
I wonder where we will be five years from now? With a bit of luck we will be on the path of Mattie Johnson!