Those of a literary bent will recognise the symptoms. When at long last we finish the book we have been labouring on for so long, our first reaction is one of relief mingled with a most agreeable feeling of lightness. It is as though an immense weight has been lifted from our shoulders, and for several days we go about our daily business in a state of near-euphoria. Very soon, however, relief gives way to anxiety, and lightness is replaced by mild depression. As the days go by, we are invaded by a curious feeling of emptiness, of pointlessness even. Eventually it dawns upon us that there is nothing for it but to start another book. Yes, but which one to read?
You had me quite worried - briefly.
ReplyDeleteThere was I, wondering how no-one had told me my brother was writing A BOOK.
But it's not too late, you know. Look at Mary Wesley. Or Charlie Chaplin and fatherhood. Or any activity post retirement, come to that.
Meanwhile, may I just express my gratitude that we are now back to black and white. I thought I was going to give up my pleasure in your blog.
I just wanted to see if anyone bothered to read through to the end! You obviously did! Who is Mary Wesley, pray? Charlie Chaplin I know, but fatherhood?
ReplyDeleteFr Hood?
DeleteYou don't know who Mary Wesley is?
DeleteWash your keyboard out with strong soap.
The Camomile Lawn
Harnessing Peacocks
Not That Kind of a Girl (this was the first Awly and I read).
The Vacillations of Poppy Carew
Part of the Furniture
and many more. First novel published at the age of 70.
I see! No hurry then.
ReplyDelete