Ice, ice baby
This newsletter is very rambly, and doesn't really have an overarching theme. Buzzwords would be novelling, hailstones, and Jo-March's-biggest-fan. It's good to be back.
I failed miserably to write a post in April (I blame the school holidays). In March, in lieu of ramblings about the farm, I took a trip down memory lane and wrote about my hedonistic student days in Leeds with Jack Cullen and Andy Carter. Have a read if you were a student in the noughties, or even if you weren’t – we talked music, fashion, insane drinking culture and our enduring love for Leeds cheese nights. For now though, normal service is resumed…
I’m an English teacher who is writing a novel in the slithers of time that remain after tending to my children, a falling-apart farmhouse, and students who are a little too dedicated to ChatGPT. This is not my first novel, it is my third, and I’ve done some good learning on the first two. I think this one might actually be publishable, if I ever finish it... Am I a walking cliché?
I blame Little Women. The 1949 film version was one of my comforts growing up. I rewound that videotape again and again, and then read all four of Louisa May Alcott’s books in quick succession. Then I felt like I had insider knowledge (spoiler alert… although the books were published 158 years ago) – Meg ends up widowed! Jo opens a school! – and could smugly lord it over any supposed ‘fans’ who had only seen the film.
Anyway, I digress. The reason why I have a warped view of writing a book is because, in every on-screen version of Little Women, Jo March, surely everyone’s favourite ahead-of-her-time, knows-her-own-mind heroine, is shown writing her book in one easy burst, overnight, the beautiful prose tumbling from her like a waterfall. Planning? Editing? No need! She writes from the heart and that is all that matters.
It turns out that actually writing a novel is not like that. It is fun though. On Monday, I put the baby down for a nap and ran to my desk. I’m in the editing stages now, and I had one particular paragraph that I needed to improve. I sipped my tea, gazed out of the window at the chateau silhouetted against the blue sky, and got to work. Fifteen minutes later, having grappled with the phrasing of the first sentence, I glanced out of the window again. The sky had turned a deep shade of grey and the wind was whipping all of the trees into a frenzy. ‘That’s weird,’ I thought, then got back to work again.
So engrossed was I that it was only when the first hailstones began to bang against the glass that I noticed the storm outside. I picked up my phone to find a message from Farmer Joe: l’orage arrive il faut tout fermer!! (the storm is coming, we need to close everything!) I ran around the house but Farmer Joe had done all of the shutting of things so I just watched as the hail battered the grass outside, the greenhouse, and the newly planted cherry tomatoes. There was nothing for it but to sit down at my desk again. This was fine until the hailstones started bouncing down the chimney and into my lap.
Half an hour later we received an email from my eldest’s school. Subject line: URGENT. The force of the hail was so strong in the village that parts of the school’s roof had caved in! Luckily, nobody was hurt – most of the four year olds just found it extra exciting when it started raining indoors. The damage was sufficient that it made the news the next day. The report included the line: ‘most children have stayed home today, but we are able to offer provision for those students whose parents are working’. Our son was one of the only children there. Oops.
It feels like every week in the South of France brings us a new weather event, or perhaps I’m just paying more attention to them now that all of our money is invested in garlic bulbs. Next time I write – in June? Or maybe even again in May? – I will tell you all about Papogay, a unique, historical, very odd event that took place in our village last weekend. Let’s just say, I never thought archery could be so exciting.
A few people — not just my lovely Mum — have said that they would like to pay for my writing. This is so extraordinarily generous and, while I’m not writing often enough to put up a paywall, if you would like to buy me a cuppa I would be beyond delighted!
And please share with anyone you think might enjoy reading!