Goodness, it has been a difficult day.
It has been a very nice day, but it has been jolly difficult.
I have been engaged in rewriting a part of my story in order to include further elements of jeopardy in order, my tutor says, that a modern reader does not become bored. Apparently a twenty-first century story has not only got to include a murder in the first line, but must have dangers and adventures chucked in liberally every couple of pages.
My current story is not so perilous as all that, mostly because I do not like reading stories where the peril is so upsetting that I have to put them down and think about something else for a bit. However, I have been informed that the sort of person who thinks that entertainment can be found on Tic Toc will become bored if there are too many pages of non-perilous events, like eating and travelling. Your average Hero cannot eat anything unless there is a danger of poison, nor can he go on a journey unless he has a pursuit hot on his heels, preferably foaming at the mouth a mere few hundred yards behind him.
I loathe stories like that and had no wish to write one, but write one I must, and so I have occupied much of today inventing an additional villain, with murderous intent, who has been lurking in dark places and observing my more realistic characters with malice in his heart.
I have got malice in my heart as well, directed largely at my new villain. I wish he would buzz off back to wherever he came from and let my characters get on with their blameless and uneventful lives unmolested.
This re-inventing has occupied a very great deal of the day, which was always my intention. I rushed around doing everything else yesterday, in order that today would be clear, and I could get on with it, but frankly I have become so fed up of it that I am becoming very glad I have got an income from driving a taxi, and do not have to write modern fiction in order to earn a living. By three o’clock this afternoon, after about twelve cups of tea, I was even beginning to think longingly about the dusting.
It even disturbed my morning tramp over the fells. I was so lost in contemplating murky plot twists and characterful misadventure that I barely noticed the bright sunshine glinting on the tarn, or the newly-minted leaves just beginning to unfurl on the horse-chestnut, and the dogs rolled over and over in every patch of badger-wee that they could find, scenting themselves ready to be odiferously desirable to every other dog on the path.
I did not really notice this until we got back home to the warm conservatory. It was not lovely.
Number Two Daughter telephoned from Canada whilst I was on my way back, to tell me about her new job. She has now got a real, true job, not just the sort that employs immigrants because they are cheap and don’t argue, although I think her last employer might have had an unpleasant surprise on the latter count. This is the splendid sort of job that gives you a pension and health care and a van full of sharp new tools to be played with. I have never had a job like that, and I suppose now I never will, but it sounds delightful, and she is appreciating every minute.
It was nice to talk to her, and we will be seeing her in a few weeks.
I am going to leave you and go back to contemplating fictional villainy.
Life can be Very Difficult at times.
