Feeling it

The waterproof mascara worked overtime in July. The Olympic torch came to town and though I feel indifferent to the Olympics, the event was surprisingly emotional. Plus, I could indulge the flag flapping obsession I’ve had since the Royal Wedding. With Union Jack in  hand, I was immersed (literally, as it happens - it piddled down) in the atmosphere on the seafront. DD2 was in a 2,000 strong choir singing a hauntingly beautiful Anthem, and like thousands of others, I was poised to capture the moment the torch passed: on tiptoes, phone angled in the air. As the excitement built it dawned on me I would have approximately one second to capture a running flame and was more likely to photograph the back of someone’s hood. I put the phone in my pocket and trusted my memory. Then last week, DD2 had her leaver's assembly. Again, the temptation was to capture the whole thing, but other than a couple of pics at the beginning, I watched them sing, dance, body pop, take the mickey out of the teachers and talk about how much they will miss the school. The camera could never had done it justice: many of us were in pieces. None of which I recorded anywhere other than in my head.

(Above: Flag waving loon with a brolly.)
 
This 'feeling it' extended to my next novel. Some time ago, I'd come up with a story and several strong characters. My inciting incident and major plot points were all in place and I sounded it out to a couple of friends who sweetly declared it 'fab'. But I was reluctant to start writing. I played with it for a couple of weeks but something wasn't working. I tried to turn it into something I wanted to write, but after one sleepless night I realised the problem: I wasn't feeling it. So I archived it, confused and fearful that maybe I didn't have it in me after all to write a second book.  Then one evening last week as I peeled carrots (the glamour… the excitement…) the seed of a story jumped into my head. I rushed to the keyboard, and my fingers couldn't keep up with my thoughts. Dinner was late but I have the outline of a story I do want to tell. One I want to spend every waking hour with. I have the house to myself next week and I plan pyjama-clad, wild-haired, phone-ignoring writing until I get the full shape of my new love. And I'm more than excited at that prospect.

For now, the sun is out, the sky is uninterrupted blue and I'm going to go and dip my toes in the paddling pool. Because I’m feeling something else this week for the first time in ages: Too bloody hot.

 PS. The torch took a lunch break and came past again an hour later when most of the people had dispersed. It would have been rude not to take a couple of photos then.  :-)