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My family had a hectic December, thank goodness for the Christmas break to take time out and put our feet up. The main thing - aside from Christmas shopping, decorating the house and wondering just how we were going to get the big goose in the little oven - was moving stable yards. Sadly the farm where we've stabled the horses for the last few years has been sold and is to be demolished for a new modern house. 16 acres of prime land overlooking Epping Forest. If I only had about £3 million.
I have stabled my horses, and then Kathy's, at Bury Farm on and off for about 40 years. I first went there when I was 18. My horse, Kaler, had been lame so was on box rest. The stable staff were supposed to keep his stable clean while I was away for a couple of days - came back to find him standing in filth. I spent the afternoon touring local stable yards and found suitable accommodation at Bury Farm. I moved yards that evening. I have accumulated many happy memories of Bury Farm, and a few sad ones. But I suppose everything changes and the time to move on comes around for a reason.
The move of our three horses plus two belonging to friends was undertaken just as the snow decided to fall on London. Bit of a nightmare day, heightened by the roads steadily getting icier. You'd be surprised just how much stuff between them five horses accumulate. It was about as stressful as moving house. Worse! Removal men do not have to persuade furniture and household goods to walk into the trailer. Getting a 17 hand, two-year-old filly having a "teenage" strop to load is not that easy.
We very nearly called her Trouble; what a bundle of mischief she is! Twelve weeks old and into absolutely everything. We lost most of the tinsel off the lower branches of the Christmas Tree, Ron's laces were "mysteriously" chewed, A ping pong ball lasted all of two seconds before it was chased beneath the refrigerator, and I am not pulling the fridge out to retrieve it. The wrapping paper from our Christmas presents was seventh heaven for her, and as for all the empty boxes. She sprawls "frog fashion" across my desk and bats at my fingers as I type. At the moment she is sound asleep in a basket I've provided her with, head and one paw lolling over the edge, the rest of her curled up. Ah, she's so cute when she's asleep. Shush. Don't wake her up. Not until I've finished writing this journal entry anyway.
Rum, our dog is not so sure about her. I think he was rather hoping that Santa would "take the pesky little black thing" away. She hasn't endeared herself to him by biting his floppy ears. Poor old Rum!
So, the New Year has brought us new things to enjoy and look forward to, although Christmas was a little difficult remembering the anniversaries of the not-so-happy events of 2009; the loss of Kathy's horse, Izzy, and my Mum, who passed away on Christmas morning 2009.
Sometimes it is hard to get through first anniversaries, to close doors and walk along new paths, not knowing what Fate will be bringing. Making decisions is often hard; not knowing whether you are doing the right thing or not - deciding which bridge to cross, which to burn.
I hope, therefore, for you my dear friends and readers, that the paths you choose to follow for 2011 turn out to be not too steep or rocky, and the views along the way promise to be good. And even if you do inadvertently burn the wrong bridge - well, you could always swim the river, or find a boat!
The very best for 2011 to you all.
The hardest thing to learn in life is which bridge to cross and which to burn.
I am making progress with all my books, although I'm finding it confusing writing Ripples In The Sand and proofreading the last two of the Arthur trilogy - Pendragon's Banner and Shadow of the King. Flitting from one time period to another is a bit of a brain burner. Fortunately, my UK editor, Jo, has done a good job, as usual, with her copyedit.
I laughed outright with one phrase Jo highlighted in her edit. I think all writers make the mistake at some point in their career of "disembodied eyes and limbs". To say "his eyes ran round the room" or, "he took his hand from his pocket" is fine when talking, but written down it can seem rather odd. "He glued his eyes on her face." Yuck. Messy!
Sometimes there is no choice for oddities: dropped his feet to the floor, set his feet on the deck, put his feet down - how else do you say it? (Suggestions welcome.)
I'm as guilty as any writer of these clumsy gaffs but none of my former editors picked them up, so the Arthur books have quite a few errant eyes running about the room. The sentence Jo came across that made me laugh was absurd though - no idea how it wasn't spotted earlier in the book's lifetime!
"He tossed his head towards the fire."
Don't go looking for it in the new SilverWood edition of The Kingmaking. It isn't there now.
I spent most of the Bank Holiday weekend working out how Jesamiah would take the Sea Witch up river from Appledore, in Devon, to Bideford.
In the 18th Century, Bideford was second only to London for the tobacco trade. Ships came in from the Colonies, mainly Virginia, to sell their cargo. Back then, the river Torridge was not as silted up as it is now, although The Bar - a sand bar across the estuary at Appledore - was just as much a hazard as in present day.
I love a challenge, and researching some topics can be fascinating. I now know quite a bit about "working" a tall ship upriver, safely negotiating bends by using the force of a flood tide and manoeuvring to and fro across the river channel. Hauling the sails to use the wind, drifting with the current broadside on, or sometimes going stern first. To round a bend the manoeuvres seem to be the sailing equivalent of doing a modern three point turn in a car. I've discovered that ships were often towed down river with the tide because it was safer. The momentum created by the weight of the vessel and the force of the tide could cause the ship to move too fast, and thus fall out of control. Like driving too fast down a steep hill. Fascinating stuff.
I have recently started a "writer's diary" where I keep a rough blog of my work in progress. I've blatantly stolen the idea from Elizabeth Chadwick. I try to, daily, post the opening sentence of each chapter as I write it, then add the closing sentence at the end of the day. Apart from (hopefully) being of interest to my readers, I am finding it a very useful exercise in focussing on each chapter and it certainly aids motivation - I have got to write because tomorrow the next sentence will be expected. Although as Jo has me scheduled in for editing fairly soon, and my readers are all waiting for another Jesamiah adventure, maybe that is motivation enough?
While writing I listen to music. In addition to Bronwen Harrison, I've become besotted with Lisa Gerrard and Loreena McKennitt. Beautiful voices. One of Ms McKennitt's is based on the poem The Highwayman...
The highwayman came riding,
up to the old inn door
Its one of those stirring romantic poems. Bess the landlord's black eyed daughter is held hostage as bait to lure her lover - the Highwayman. She is tied and bound to the bedpost, a musket by her side - and rather than see her beloved captured, as she hears him approach she shoots herself. Full of drama, romance and suspense, I can't help thinking it would make a fantastic novel. My only query: seeing as muskets had to be loaded, primed and cocked before firing, how come Bess managed to kill herself? If I write the novel I can see more research ahead.
We have a little sadness at home. Our pony, Rosie,
and our dog, Rum, are not well. Both are old now and feeling their age. It's hard when beloved pets are reaching the end of their life. We've had Rosie for sixteen years; she was Kathy's first pony, and Rum for ten years. He was rescued from being cruelly treated - at least with us he has had a loving and caring home and an enjoyable life. The decision to say goodbye to both of them will not be easy, particularly so close together, but I do not believe in animals suffering in order to ease our own pain. Difficult decisions are part of the responsibility of having animal friends.
As I write this it is pouring with rain. It is almost like autumn outside. I like autumn, the colours, the smells, but it is nice to have a summer first. Did I go to sleep for a month or so and miss it by chance? The garden is not helped by the fact that the guttering below the eaves of the roof was not fitted properly. Even I know that it is a good idea to fit two bits of guttering together in a straight, horizontal line. A kink, with one section higher than the other is not a good idea. Needless to say, where the drainpipe it, the whole thing has twisted and pulled apart. We now have a waterfall cascading from the roof every time it rains.
I found my poor geraniums frantically doing breaststroke in their pots. Geraniums are heat-loving Mediterranean plants. I don't think being half drowned is quite to their liking, On the other hand, the cucumbers in the greenhouse were lovely! Mab,
the cat has taken to curling up there in the greenhouse. Warm and dry. Cats aren't daft are they?
Join me September 19th on Facebook and Twitter, where I will be using the above quote, somehow. Not sure how yet! It's a stolen quote of course, but what can you expect?
September 19th is International Talk Like A Pirate Day.
Arrrr!
He's quite a quiet chap, keeps his powder dry.