It turns out that writing a blog can at times be quite a cathartic experience, because I felt a little more equitable after that last post, not enough to fill the world with charm and smiles by a long shot, but certainly enough not to want to throw things and give everything up. The heart did completely disappear from my composition there for a couple of days, but it really was just a couple of days, even if that is something of a record.
Unfortunately or fortunately I write because I cannot not write, and although I have stepped away from the manuscript for a few days and intend to stay away from it perhaps a while longer, I feel that I shall be back. I have had setbacks before, one or two of those enough to make me want to pack it all in, and the pattern is the same – frustration, introspection, consolidation, continuation.
I have still not heard anything about the timeline of the whole Flyht thing that has made me confident of being able to know who decided what and when and what was said to whom, and I doubt that I shall ever know. That being the case one clings to what there is and then carries on. I need to let it go, put it behind me, accept the experience and learn whatever needs to be taken from it.
It should be no surprise that we gamed a decent amount over the weekend, including a joyous play of Last Will, a game which, appropriately enough, involves letting one’s house go to ruin and becoming bankrupt. On Sunday I was back in London, playing for a glorious Mozart Requiem in the evening and then repairing to the burrow for more gaming and a little more introspection, but in a brighter frame of mind, at least until I watched the Ferrari F1 team implode spectacularly. Again.
So today is Monday and those competition entries and other pieces are not going to write themselves, and out there on the horizon on Sunday is a performance of This Light Of Reason in Bristol by the Exultate Singers. I hope to pop along to their rehearsal during the week to have a listen and offer an encouraging word, but really I think that the encouragement will be travelling in both directions. Also this evening I think that we shall be running through The Oxen for the first time, my new carol for the wonderful Parliament Choir. It is not how hard you hit that matters – it is how hard you can be hit and still keep going. Forza!