Solstice

Several years ago I adopted Persephone as a guide to the creative life. I was finding life to be constant stress between writing and all other activities; whatever I was doing I was fretting that I wasn't doing something else. This became particularly acute in summer months when the desire to be OUT is so strong. I was advised to give up writing for six months. This was in the month of March. I found the experience so useful that I've followed it ever since and write only between the equinoxes (although sometimes I cheat in the summer, and am cheated in the winter). I must be the only person who greets the onset of dark evenings with a cheer. It did strike me that no one ever mentioned which part of Persephone's life she preferred, being with Ceres, her mother, or Pluto, her husband. I suspect she had no preference but enjoyed both.

Now that I am growing used to the regime, I begin to notice that the creative year in fact divides into quarters. I believe astronomers noticed this at the dawn of time, but I'm slow to catch up. There are the equinoxes and there are the solstices. As the summer solstice approaches in a few days' time, I find I am motivated to clear all the gumph off my desk, complete outstanding tasks and do my filing. Something inward is shifting towards winter and writing a new novel. High summer will be spent doing the research (that doesn't count as writing) and dwelling on the story (neither does that). Both can be done under the apple trees.

The two equinoctal divisions may be simply described as IN and OUT. Winter is the time to stay indoors and beaver at your keyboard. Summer is the time to be out on the veg plot. (This is a simplistic version of my life and takes no account of the multitude of other duties and activities, including earning a living.) The solstice division adds a little subtlety. Spring is OUT-OUT. All the seedlings to raise, nurture and plant, the plots to be dug, etc. Summer is OUT-IN. Not so much to do on the veg plot apart from weeding, watering and some late sowings. Autumn is IN-IN. Everything is inturned. The plants are harvested, the leaves drop from the trees, all the sap returns to the roots of both soul and soil. Then comes the winter solstice and the annoyance of Christmas - such a busy, disturbing time, but it heralds the quarter turn into new life. Winter is IN-OUT. Still writing, but now there are seed catalogues and potatoes arriving in the post. Snowdrops appear and then the celandines and, in March, I'll swop the pen for the dibber.

Limbo

It's a long time since my last post and, prompted by Jeremy's comment, feel I should say at least something, if only to point you to his own blog since it makes fascinating reading on the issue of our response to climate destabilisation. You will find it at http://bpvocc.blogspot.com.

As for me, I'm in limbo. The external weather is preventing any serious work on the allotment, while the internal weather is delaying any creative work. I'm fully occupied with preparing a talk on Pico della Mirandola for the Temenos Academy next week and, like the last time I spoke on him, find that my ideas keep crumbling to dust. As I pick my way so carefully in the minefields of scholarship, I wonder - what am I doing here? I'm just a novelist! But at the moment I can't even read a book, let alone write one. Still, I'm old enough and wise enough to know that one must trust what happens and just go along with it.

So that the first quarter of 2008 doesn't go down in the annals as completely unproductive, I spend a little time each day building my website. And that is fun. Do visit.

The Rebirth of Venus

A big lorry drew up yesterday with a pallet full of books. The driver distracted me, telling me how his wife had left him with two little children twenty-five years ago, and that she doesn't know she's a grandmother. He also told me about his elderly father being a right misery and difficult to look after. Thank goodness it was such a beautiful, sunny day. Anyway, we eventually got the books unpacked, and it's looking gorgeous.

It took five (seven, including David's two) trips to the post office this morning, laden like a pack donkey, to get all the pre-ordered books away. (This will be the last time we stress Carl and his stamp-licking tongue - our post office is to close in a couple of months). As I sat signing all the books last night, and reading messages people had sent, I became slightly heady with delight at what marvellous people we have as customers. This is one of the best parts of publishing your own books: direct contact with readers. When you go through one of the big houses, there is nothing quite so flat as publication day. You get your copy through the post in a world that's gone eerily silent and will remain that way for weeks if not months. For some people, it stays that way forever, their book dropping like a stone into a bottomless well. Ugh. . .

We're having an official rebirthday, with guests, on Saturday.

Endagered Species 2 - the Indent

'Any questions?' my tutor in web design asked sweetly. 'You've missed two classes. Do you have any particular questions?'

'Well, yes, there is one. What do I do if I want an indent?'

'A what?'

'Indent. You know, when you press Tab in Word, you get an indent.'

'Oh, well, that is advanced. Even the advanced class hasn't tackled that one yet. But there is a way, yes, and I'll show you if you're really interested, only not right now.'

'Why is it so difficult?'

'Well, you see,' he said, pulling on his lower lip, 'it's a psuedo property.'

So, good folks, the reason why this blog is laid out like a commercial report is because programmers are commercial guys, and think the double-line space between paragraphs is the right thing to do. So much so that the element for 'paragraph' in HTML (my, aren't we getting knowledgeable?) includes a 'white space', which is to say, a blank line. So every time you type a paragraph tag, bingo, you got what you don't want.

Save the indent! I mean - will you ever want to read a novel laid out like this? And a tip for aspiring writers: never send out a manuscript laid out like this.

Dem Bones

So, the news is out following DNA testing on the exhumed bones of Giovanni Pico della Mirandola and Angelo Poliziano: they both died of poisoning. I heard about the exhumation just as I was making the book ready for press. What a quandry! Should I wait until I heard the results? What if that necessitated rewriting? In the end I decided to leave things as they were. After all, I had not categorically stated how they died. I was not writing a murder mystery. I stayed with Tommaso's point of view at the time: he would not have known for sure himself, but would have had his suspicions (and fears). In the end, his suspicions have been vindicated by modern science.

I trust the scientists are better at their science than their history. The newspaper report said that Pico's bones were those of a tall, burly man, contradicting all his portraits. There are no portaits, only written descriptions, which state that he was 'tall and robust'.

So, science has added nothing to my story, and my story nothing to science, except for one thing. In the novel I dismiss the theory that Pico was murdered by his secretary, Cristoforo Casale. And I am rather inclined to go with my intuition. It has never let me down.

Will this finally put paid to the scurrilous character assassination of Poliziano that has been going on for four hundred years? Somehow I doubt it. It will go quiet for a while, then, in time, we will begin to read again that he 'died of syphilis' or 'died falling down the stairs in the extremities of love.' It takes a novelist to tell the truth.

The book? - out next week. The two-week delay waiting for the typesetter to return from holiday so that the printers could get the correct files turned out to be unnecessary: the printers had the files all the time. Was there ever a book so reluctant to come out into the light of day?

Comments

Just a note to say that more comments have been posted under 'Literary or Commercial' below - all well-worth reading.

Endangered species - the subjunctive

Just because a book is written for the 'commerical' market doesn't mean we can assume that readers are a bit thick and will be put off by good English. Whether the use of the subjunctive is disappearing because of this idea or just through sheer ignorance, I don't know. If I was taught it at school, I forgot about it, but it was brought specifically to my attention by a mentor concerned about my development as a writer. The use of the subjunctive lends a beautiful quality to language. Examples include such sweet phrases as 'be that as it may' or 'would that I could'. Briefly it is used when expressing a wish or a possibility, that is, not an absolute. For example: 'I wish my brother were here' (not was). There's not a single example of the use of the subjunctive in the seven hundred papages of Labyrinth. It is not an easy aspect of grammar to master, but it's worth the effort to develop an ear for it. Don't make the mistake of assuming that all sentences beginning with 'if' will take the subjunctive: there are exceptions. My third sentence in this piece, for example, is correct, although I have no idea why.