The Last Time
That damned buzzsaw guitar of Keith Richard keeps running through my head. You know the one — that intros the Stones The Last Time?
Because this is the last, the very last time I should be going into Newton Park for over four months, all being well. Next week I start a 3-week holiday before going back to work at one of the hospitals in Bristol; sadly, we’re at least a month, ideally two from my being able to take the summer off and write literally full-time. Maybe that’ll happen next year.
So what have I learned?
As I told Carrie Etter when she asked me that question, the thing that I’ve learned is how to really, really think about things. I’m not talking about the odd bit of neuron-firing that we all substitute for thought, but the brain-stretching stuff like; how can we believe anything what the mass-media tell us when each information provider has an agenda of their own? How do I generate ‘heat’ for my writing career? When was the time I was I most happy in childhood? Can I write a sonnet to order?
I don’t have the answers to any of those, apart from the last one, which is yes, although unsurprisingly it wasn’t very good.
Sadly, by the time I go back, the leaves will be starting to go brown. But in the meantime, here comes summer…
