This morning I woke early for the first workshop, and after some much-needed coffee (several cups) we got to work. The theme today was Breton, the language of Brittany, where we're staying.
We looked at some of the local idioms and wrote a little based on them. It sparked a few ideas for me, and I wrote around five hundred words of a children's gothic tale, following a girl called Maudlin Damp. I've had her in my head for a long time, so it was gratifying to find somewhere to put her.
My problem right now- and in fact, my problem always - is that I have so many ideas and projects, and lack the focus and discipline to finish any one of them. That's what I really need to work on.
It's beautiful here, but beautiful is only a word. It has nothing to say to the pluming grees, the sound of birdsong, the sheer lovely wonder of this place. Already I can feel this becoming a memory. That's the kind of person I am. Never fully in the moment, but always committing things to how they will be remembered. Perhaps that is just being a writer.
I want to remember everything, though. From the old farmer's plough they turned into a coffee table, to the jars of shells littering every surface. Earlier I lay on the grass and wrote, half hoping that if I lay there long enough I would become a fixture of the place, built into the ground like bricks into mortar.
Anyway, I promised pictures, but today has been so busy that I don't have many. But here's the view from my window.
No comments:
Post a Comment