I don’t like writing. I think I have made this clear before. But, for some stupid reason, I got talked in to writing a novel/novella/short story/pamphlet for November/first week in December. I always like creativity, I always like to join in and I always like to finish things. This often leads to stress and furious, frantic tapping of the keyboard.
Anyway, I’m done.
It’s called The Hall. I only got to 12,000 words, but I’m fairly happy with it. Let me know if you want a copy – don’t worry Ma, I’ve already sent you one.
Although I really don’t think I’m good at writing – like at all, I did enjoy the creative process. I liked the initial thinking of ideas and I enjoyed the structuring. I probably also would have enjoyed it a lot more if I didn’t have to do it at the same time as working during the busiest term of the year, having an observation week and feeling generally run down.
StuMo hasn’t finished. He was the one that talked me into it in the first place. Not impressed.
Anyway. Doing that, along with a full-time job, did take up most of my free time, but I haven’t stopped doing film related stuff altogether, obviously. I have started reading the Jack Cardiff autobiography that Uncle John gave me, which is enjoyable, if a little light. My gorgeous friend Nat also came to stay a couple of weekends ago and gave me a great book on the representation of history in cinema. While she was up we also did a bit of old book shopping (it helps to live above a second hand bookshop) and I bought a book about Mayer and Thalberg and a 1930s history of cinema.
As a side note, I have also booked tickets to see 9 to 5, the Dolly Parton musical with Madkin – too excited.