Diary of a Writer’s Retreat: Thursday

So, it’s the day before the last full day (I can be a bit pessimistic in that way).

I was dismayed this morning when the professional noise makers set up shop right outside my cottage very early on

A pretty wet and miserable start, but maybe the weather did me a favour because it seemed to drive the professional noisemakers away. Even though it’s out of the holiday season, though, people are still regularly walking along the lane and staring in when I’m downstairs. I’ve realised that as well as being based in a professional noise making venue also I’m right on a viewing spot: you get a good view out across the estuary from right outside my cottage

I don’t mind that – it’s when they gawp the other way – i.e. through my window – that I start to feel like an animal in a zoo. (I’ve noticed I do it when I’m walking through these streets. But that’s different.) Yesterday a man and his wife came ambling by, admired the view, then started peering in through my window. I was sitting on the settee reading. The man wasn’t satisfied with a quick  glance, and against his wife’s wishes he came right up and pressed his face against the window for a good look, then spotted me. I waved, he waved back and grinned cheerily, then went on his way. I think if there had been bars instead of window panes he would have thrown me some peanuts.

I couldn’t get into my writing again today and only produced a shameful thousand words. I’m writing to a brief supplied by someone else, and I’ve decided that I don’t find this plot quite so engaging as the last one I did for them. But I have a deadline and it must be done. I pride myself on never having missed a deadline. Then at lunchtime the sun came out and I decided to leave Polruan behind

and make another trip to Fowey

Once there I saw a cloud on the horizon. It was only small and white, but the microclimate here is very changeable so I thought the only safe thing to do was take refuge in the Galleon Inn till it had passed over. The world always looks a little better after a pint of Doombar, and Polruan certainly looked lovely as I waited for the ferry to take me back

I finished off the critique I was working on, but I’ll put it to one side for a final check tomorrow. I want to make sure I’ve broken the bad news gently and not allowed my attempts at humour, inserted to sweeten the bitter pill, come across as sarcasm – as I suspect I inadvertently come close to doing at times.

Then I settled down to a cuppa and reading for pleasure instead of for work. I’m reading The King’s Revenge, a non-fiction book about the restoration of the monarchy and manhunt to track down the men who were responsible for the execution of Charles I. It’s a good read, but it’s doubly interesting for me because it’s exactly the same period as the children’s novel I’m writing and even features some of the same themes and characters. Samuel Pepys’ name invariably crops up a lot. I love reading his dairies, and I’m trying to get the publishers to give him a walk-on part in the novel.

And so to bed.

About ramblesofawriter

Writer, thinker, tea drinker.
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