... and we've been told there's no such thing as writer's block!

I have a very exciting week ahead.  On Wednesday I am going down to deepest Wiltshire with a couple of OU friends for a 3-day residential course at a place called Urchfont Manor.  It's run as an add-on to our writing course and will concentrate on preparing our pieces for our last two TMAs and our EMA.  The thought of spending three days entirely devoted to writing is filling me with glee.  Actually, it's not three days, it's more like two - we have the first workshop 8.00 - 9.00 on Wednesday evening and the last one 11.30 - 1.00 on Friday.  However, being able to immerse myself in the whole subject of writing and books with a group of like-minded individuals is wonderful.  I do find that people's eyes glaze over after an hour or so of me waxing lyrical on plots and characters and phrasing and rhythm.  I can't think why!

We are asked to take with us multiple copies of the drafts we have already written.  These are, I suppose, to be shared around for feedback.  This would be a marvellous idea if it wasn't for the fact that I have a severe case of writer's block - hence the title of today's piece.  I am astounded by the fact that, as a woman who has read more books than she has had hot dinners - and that probably isn't an exaggeration - I am struggling to find a reason why a woman who has distanced herself from her family because she is ashamed of her roots, will feel compelled to re-establish contact following the receipt of a letter from her nephew.  Other than the impending death of a family member (parents are already dead, so it can't be one of them), which is a little well-used, I am still stumped. Bizarre!  It's obviously playing on my mind because last night I dreamt that I'd come up with the perfect reason and had written it down.  On waking this morning, I remember having that dream; I remember dreaming that I waved at my elderly disabled neighbour when he was brought home by the out-patient ambulance with an orange blanket tucked round his legs.  Do you think I can remember what this perfect plot was?  Any helpful hints can be left in the comments box at the end of this posting.  PLEASE! And keep them clean ... I've got enough to deal with.

To close - really writing this post is simply further procrastination and I must enforce some discipline on my errant grey matter - I must just add that Joanna is home from Glamorgan Uni for the weekend and my heart lifted with maternal joy yesterday evening to have both of my little girls seated round the dinner table.  Their banter and laughter and happiness at being together was brought to an abrupt end at bedtime with a fight over who was washing up and a further verbal tussle over who has possession of their shared car when Natasha has taken - and passed - her driving test at Easter.  Scowling, tired faces stomped up the stairs and I was left without a goodnight kiss.  It was good to have things back to normal.  They're still lovely when they're asleep!

Mark's in now let's move on ...

The good news is as follows:

I got my poetry mark and was graded an astonishing 87%!  To say I was surprised is like saying this winter's been a bit chilly.  As I reported earlier, I'd been checking all day on the Open University website, but the little score box remained stubbornly empty.  I then went to do my evening shift at work, logged into the OU website and there it was, all shiny and sparkly I swear I heard a heavenly choir!  I shooed everyone out of Reception, ran into the corner and did my little celebratory dance, punched the air a couple of times, smoothed down my hair and calmly went and took my seat.  I felt like a bit of a cheat because so many of my course-mates had read about the rules and structures of poetry and understood them.  I'd openly admitted I understood very little, didn't intend to be a poet anyway, read a few poets that I liked, wrote a couple of poems which were alright and then my opus arrived in all its glory nearly fully formed in my head.  Can't help thinking I was struck by the lucky stick.

Tasha is dancing as well.  She got two offers in yesterday.  Bath Spa have offered her a place on condition she gets a merit in her Foundation course - apparently that's a middle score.  Sunderland have offered her an unconditional place.  I'm very proud of her.  And she was having a really bad day yesterday trying to find a subject for her final project.  She'd taken herself off to London to go round some galleries in the search for a flash of inspiration and came home all dejected.  I tried to help, but was roundly told to leave her alone.  She flung herself into a frenzy of cleaning the bathroom and her bedroom - which was good for me! - while she nursed her frustrations.  I left her to it and cooked dinner instead.  Eventually, just as our fish masala and pilau rice with tomatoes and peas was ready to eat (new cookery book - Madhur Jaffrey's Curry Easy - highly recommended) she reappeared as grinny and shiny as I'd been the night before, brandishing her laptop with the UCAS site all lit up and showing her offers.

We both went to bed happy little bunnies.

Then Jack phoned at 1.10 am and woke up both of us.

I didn't get back to sleep until just before 4 am.  The happy bunny had been shot and skinned and was hanging as a warning not to talk to me this morning before I'd had a very large mug of tea.

The moral to this story is that all things are fleeting and changeable, so grab the good bits while you can.

Sorry ...

I've felt very naughty not blogging for the past few days - not that I think anyone will have noticed, however, it was all a little hectic last week and I had some catching up to do.  That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

As you will know, I'm onto the life writing module of my Open University course.  We are tackling biography and autobiography.  I thought this would be quite an easy part of the course and it has proven to be sort of true for the autobiography part - I'm not having too much trouble with it.  Biography though is a minefield!  It can't be straight reportage - that's journalism, but it also can't be too fictionalised - that's fiction.  Finding the fine line that divides the two has eluded me so far.  It's got so bad that I had a nightmare about it last night.  I kept telling someone that I had to do more research on this man because I was writing about him, getting into a bit of a panic and then remembering that I was going to do autobiography instead, so everything was OK.  It was a bit of a relief to wake up!  And you don't hear me saying that too often on a Monday!

I've gone through this week's chapter, so that I can concentrate on getting my TMA/EMA (that's Tutor Marked Assessment and ... er Examiner Marked Assessment (?) for those who don't know the jargon!) pieces together. Life writing TMA is due in April and then the last TMA and our EMA are May and June.  I'm off to Urchfont Manor the week after next for a 3-day residential course and we need to bring drafts of our final TMA(s) and EMA.  This means I do actually have to put pen to paper, otherwise I'll sit there for 3 days way behind before I've even started.  Being on here is partly procrastination.

I'm also waiting for my mark for our poetry Assessment which is due any time today, we've been told.  Nervous doesn't even begin to cover it.

I'm going now.  I need to write something.  I just wish I knew what!

The Wanderers Return

We return unscathed from the sunny, windy, chilly North.  The Gods must have been with us because we didn't hit any traffic - in either direction - and the Travelodge wasn't nearly as dire as I was dreading.  The only really awful moment came when, somehow, Natasha managed to talk me into having a Burger King for lunch instead of the healthy - or at least healthier - M&S sandwich and fruit I was wandering towards.  I haven't eaten fast food burgers for a very long time because, frankly, they are rubbish and don't even taste very nice, a conclusion that seemed to momentarily slip my mind.  Motorway madness indeed.  After my run in with them on Tuesday, I won't be going near them again for a long while ... and don't get me started on the liquid they served up that they called 'coffee'.  I found it necessary to point out to Natasha, following our very nice pub meal that evening, our BK aberration cost more than our dinner.

The university score so far seems to be Sunderland 1, Bath Spa 0.  An further fixture with Birmingham is scheduled for March 23.  Then we have to wait and see.