where the writers are
The ones that got away


Fluffed about like madwoman on the computer today, doing anything but write. So didn't manage to look at Hallsfoot's Battle before a brief Sainsbury's shop and golf. Which today proved a bit of a rollercoaster - I played some spectacularly bad shots which resulted in not one, but two lost balls. Two! Ye gods and little fishes, it's lucky I've got any to play with at all. I foresee the first item on my Christmas list for sure ... 

Still, to counteract all that, I parred the third beautifully with a totally top-class chip in from way, way off the green. There was that wonderful moment when I watched it and thought: Yes, that's pretty damned close. Then the equally wonderful clunk where the ball hit the flag and went in. Bliss. At this point, real golfers smile slightly, nod their heads and move on, always aware of the essential courtesy and professionalism of the great game. I, on the other hand, shrieked wildly, brandished my golf club above my head and ran around like a crazed bee for a few minutes. Lucky I didn't lose it entirely and do a streak (God forbid! - though it would clear the course) ... Even more excitingly, Marian nearly - oh soooo nearly!! - got a birdie on the 9th. Now that would have catapulted us to the heights of Godalming golf fame indeed.

This afternoon, once normality had set in, I finally managed to drag myself back to the world of Annyeke and Simon. Which wasn't as scary as I'd feared after all, and I now have about 25,500 words under my belt. Or wherever the damn things go. Good Lord, that's round about a fifth of a fantasy novel then. There's hope and a sense of perspective then. Out there in the undergrowth somewhere.

And I've been thinking about things that get away (such as my ruddy golf balls, etc), so here's a poem:

The one that got away

I found a poem
under the bathmat today.

It stared up at me
as bold as a cat.

I should have grabbed it
then and there

but in the act
of shaking out the mat

it slithered off,
triangular mouth stretched wide

and round eyes blinking,
down the smooth bathside

through the gurgling water,
into the plughole

and was gone.
Dammit.

Talking of poetry, I've now finished reading Issue 8 of The Seventh Quarry poetry magazine. Though I don't like it as much as Equinox Magazine (to which I've now subscribed), I did enjoy offerings by Maria Mazziotti Gillan, Aeronwy Thomas, Gloria G Murray (you really can't go wrong with a poem entitled "Sleep is the Bitch with the Botticelli smile"), and Dave Woolley. The latter also has a couple of poetry collections out, so there's a poet I'll be looking out for.

Tonight, I'm planning a complete blitz of manic flat-cleaning for the Bank Holiday Weekend. It's a very English tradition, you know. Ooh and the lovely people we met in Egypt a couple of years ago have invited us up for a get-together of "The Egypt Group" in October. I can't wait! Ideally timed too, as I can give them copies of Maloney's Law - as of course the novel is dedicated to them. I couldn't have done the Cairo hotel scenes without the input of Mike 'n' Miriam who actually stayed in the hotel I wanted Paul to stay in. The rest of us were in the slightly less posh one! So thanks to M & M for the insider knowledge on that.

Today's nice things:

1. Golf
2. Writing
3. Poetry
4. The Egypt Group get-together news.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website