My Writing Day From Caroline Pitcher
Saturday - I've finished the edits on a story and I'm smugly looking forward
to a whole day with my novel. Sunday - The day begins at 3.30 a.m. with a waking
dream in which I watch the end of my novel. It tells itself to me, except for
a link; how does the main girl get to that end? I start to look too hard. Mistake.
Wide awake now, my mind wanders around the garden, hoping to find a space for
the weeping Rosemary I saw in J. Parker's Spring catalogue. So, it's out with
the porridge and on to the Dog Walk. This is a necessary part of my writing
day, morning and evening. When the Dog was prescribed bed rest (ha! ha!) for
the bad back he'd got leaping on and off the bridge over the brook, my writing
routine was ruined. This morning, we walk through mud, hearing buzzards and
watching lugubrious herons while my back brain sorts out stories. How does my
main girl get to the end? No response. Instead, up pops a story about a minor
character, a goldfinch, from a picture book text I wrote before Christmas. Sigh.
Sometimes stories become an obligation, nagging to be told. Back in the study,
I resist emails and write my novel. I'm longing to write the end but feel muzzy
and computer-sick. I need a good night's sleep, and I haven't got the girl there
yet. I settle down to read the new Rose Tremain novel from the library instead.
The late afternoon Dog Walk is disagreeably wet. The Dog turns back home. Chopping
thyme and garlic to splodge on satellite-dish mushrooms for supper, I suddenly
see the link. That's how she gets to the end! It's been in the story all the
time, and I just didn't see it. I've got a feeling tomorrow's going to be a
good, good day.