Winter arrived in Perth last week, and for some reason bad weather never fails to stimulate my writing. I think it’s a combination of the sounds—rain on a tin roof, wind rushing through the trees—and sights—grey skies, water trickling down a pane of glass. Whatever it is, it cures my writer’s block every time.
I’m pleased to report that I’ve moved on from page 60 in my manuscript—I’m now up to page 80. It’s better than it sounds because I feel as if I know what I’m doing now. I’ve rejigged the story a lot, and I actually like it much better.
They say that everyone’s first novel is autobiographical and although strictly speaking mine wasn’t, it did have a lot of me in it, perhaps too much. In the latest version, I think the themes are now less personal and more universal. I’ll have to wait for readers’ verdicts on that …
In other news, the temperature in Perth actually dipped below zero on Wednesday night—the coldest Perth night for three years. It was still only one degree at half-past seven on Thursday morning, which I experienced vicariously as I stayed inside by the heater in my PJs. The dogs and I delayed our walk until it warmed up a little—I refuse to walk unless it’s at least five degrees. When we did set off, there was still plenty of bite in the air. And plenty of rain.
On roses and rose leaves:
On the daisies, too:
I’m always amazed that you can still find colour in winter—the flame trees stood out against the grey sky:
And the wisteria was flowering:
This, I believe, is called a ‘cockie’s tongue’, and it’s just starting to bud. It appears that a spider has decided to call it home.
So, that’s a glimpse of my week. I’m actually out of the attic for the next week or so. I only arrived where I’m staying last night, but I’ve already made a friend:
We’ll keep each other company.
Hope you have a warm week, and that words, pictures, songs, or whatever art you make, flow from your fingertips.