I'm in Scotland, spending a week on the
Fielding Programme, trying to move on a bit with the next collection. I think there should be some special service offered to the writers of second collections - a therapy that helps you wade through the void that seems to open up insidiously after the first one comes out. Not pamphlets - they are OK. You can survive a pamphlet feeling quite chirpy and optimistic. After
Weeping I was in the writing doldrums for at least 18 months - but pleased to say things have improved. It certainly helps to be away from the wear and tear of everyday life - up here, surrounded by mountains and water, you have to do something to amuse yourself. And
Polly Clarke is a fantastic mentor. This morning I watched a couple of mallards in a full on gay romp in the little pond outside my cube, and some very hairy cows nearly fall in it. I've rescued some frogspawn, eaten a lot of biscuits and sat on my glasses. I have been thinking about feminism and its current place in my life and work. Find myself going over old ground, worrying about the personal / political relationship, what it means for me now. But yes writing too. Birds, aviatrix, WW2 Russian aces - and me mutha. Plus reaching the reminiscence stage, so doing a fair amount of looking back, like this:
