Another week of little writing, and very little daydream. But, rather than lamenting this as I normally would (normally do), I’ve been enjoying it as much as I can. Why? Because it’s half term.
The children are home every day, more relaxed and carefree than during term, and the house has been full, busy, noisy. Very little space or time to do anything other than relish in the world of toy trains, painting and pumpkin carving competitions, (which I didn’t enter myself as I’m so horribly competitive. Last year I embarrassingly shouted “Get In!” when my daughter won a game of musical chairs. Like mother like daughter, she was as thrilled with my reaction as she was to winning. Another ace on the parenting score board there then(Oh dear.)).
But be it the hectic schedule of school holidays or the normal running of life, there is something to be said for taking a break. And yes, before you ask, I am absolutely chomping at the bit to get writing. I am desperate, quite desperate, to get back to it. But I can also see how this break has been a healthy one.
I was witness to Meg Rosoff’s fantastic talk on voice at Winchester this summer and one thing that really stuck was the idea of composting; allowing your brain the time to collect, filter and sit on ideas for a while, letting them mulch into something richer. That’s certainly happened to me this week. Whereas I haven’t consciously thought about book one or book two, I am aware that when I get back to work next week I’ll be flying. My brain has gone fizzy, fermenting rather than composting.
And, as if in proof of what I have just written, this writing-less week has given me the name for the character who is to become a woman, the name for the detective in book two, a title for book two (possibly) and a few tentative ideas for short stories.
So, there you have it. A rest is as good as…well, a rest.