unless you count the panting.
23rd June 2019.
The highlight of the week was last Sunday’s Race for Life, when Carol and I ran 10K around Hampden Park in Eastbourne and raised £265 for Cancer Research UK.
It was the twisting course of two laps through woodland and around fields. My abiding memory will be the first time I turned from the main lake to be met by a stream of pink, four or five people wide, heading in the opposite direction. Young and old, some in fancy dress, some with their dogs, one or two in wheelchairs, all taking part to raise money for charity.
This was the first year men were allowed to take part and it was lovely to see families going round together in what was a carnival atmosphere. The noise drowned out my panting as I pushed myself hard to run as fast as I could around the course.
It wasn’t a race – it’s what I do. I set off faster than intended and keep it going for as long as possible.
Only this time, it was fun.
It’s a pergolette
On a less serious note, the works in the rear garden were completed on Monday with the construction of a small pergola over the start of the new path. As it only has four posts, I’m calling it a pergolette.
It also means no more distractions from the writing.
It’s long been my belief that cups of tea are an essential part of any construction job. I won’t tell you how many I go through while I’m writing, but I use those moments when the kettle boils and the tea bags release their magic to think about my story and what I’m going to write next.
I’ve lost count of how many good ideas I’ve had while watching hot water darken to a golden tan.
With another cup to brew for Chris, who’s done a wonderful job of transforming the patio and garden, and decisions to be made about layout, how many cross timbers for the pergolette, and why soil always finds it way inside your trainers, my mind hasn’t always been on writing.
But if I ever want to bury a body in a garden, I know how many cubic metres of soil I’ll need.
Mercy Me
Released from brewing duties and topsoil traumas, the writing picked up with the usual crop of complications that I can’t help throwing in at the end of chapters.
It stems from wanting to make Kent Fisher’s life as difficult and complicated as I can. It creates a more interesting story, if nothing else.
I don’t like stories where protagonists get what they want too easily. Every step forward should be an obstacle to overcome, leading to another, preferably more difficult one ahead. It means I often wonder ‘what’s the last thing Kent needs at this point’ and then throw it into the mix.
The ending of No More Lies, if you’ve read it, should confirm that.
That’s why I don’t always know what’s coming next when I’m writing, but that’s how I like it.
Talk about making life difficult!
Anyway, with just shy of 20,000 words written, No Mercy is shaping up well with an intriguing subplot that’s crept in under the radar, adding to his misery.
And in case you’re wondering …
or even if you’re not, I’m going to use the titles of songs for my future blogs. The aim is make the song title appropriate to the content.
Silent Running by Mike and the Mechanics features the wonderful, silky vocals of Paul Carrack, and was the best of many songs I could have chosen about running.
