So, apologies for missing yesterday’s post, also the one the day before. Monday was a Bank Holiday, which kind of lets me off the hook, while yesterday I got as far as writing the title (Stasis) which tells you more or less in the single word why I did not get any further.
So the days of the lock down drag on, although an end is in sight however much your eyesight might need checking by a 30 mile drive, but a couple of conversations over the past couple of days have driven home (no, not after a drive to check one’s eyesight) just how much things have been static since the end of March. I think that I also need to admit that my sabbatical, which was going great guns until then, has been short of puff since that point.
A great part of it is mental, of course, and at least I have been keeping myself physically active, either at home or out and about, to the extent that I feel in pretty good form at fifty, probably fitter than I have ever been after a good forty years of paying no attention to that kind of stuff at all. Viruses, buses and the like permitting, I intend to go on for a while and all this effort is, I believe, investment for the future.
Despite the slow and lazy passing of the days I am still writing, and the orchestral piece is slowly picking up momentum, details being filled in at an ever more sprightly rate and the whole thing possessing a strong sense of shape even at this early stage, result, no doubt, of that solid pre-scribble planning. There is a long, long way to go on this, but it ticks on day by day, as do we all.
I have also found a couple of decent competitions to go in for, which will keep my writing moving along over the coming months when I suspect that commissions and performances will be very thing on the ground. It has been difficult to maintain my rhythm over these rhythmless weeks, but at least the heart of it all, that committing of notes to paper, is still beating.