I love it when it rains on a Bank Holiday Monday. I'm probably the only person in England to feel this way, definitely the only person in London! After months and months of hot, sticky, sweaty streets, with trees dying on every corner because it never rains, the last week has been blissful with enough rain to form puddles and the air a lot fresher than it has been for a while. It's still sticky, though, but cool enough to occasionally consider a cardigan. This morning on Russell Square, it felt like autumn: the ground was littered with dead leaves, the earth was wet, the trees were dark. But it's a false autumn - the leaves are only dead because of severe dehydration during the awful summer and I was soaked with sweat under my raincoat.
My life continues to feel disordered and impossible after the crashing realisation that my novel was a disaster. I'm feeling my way through the days, unable to make any plans. But, vaguely, once the school term has started, I want to spend a while doing some proper research. And then I'm going to get going on the second draft - the real problems only start in chapter 11 or 12 and I'm hoping by then that I would have had some inspirational thoughts. If not, I'll go and find some trees. Preferably ones that drip rainwater.
My life continues to feel disordered and impossible after the crashing realisation that my novel was a disaster. I'm feeling my way through the days, unable to make any plans. But, vaguely, once the school term has started, I want to spend a while doing some proper research. And then I'm going to get going on the second draft - the real problems only start in chapter 11 or 12 and I'm hoping by then that I would have had some inspirational thoughts. If not, I'll go and find some trees. Preferably ones that drip rainwater.
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