My nine-year-old nephew has gone quiet on the writing front recently. It’s OK though, I’ve taught him to play Spider Solitaire, the procrastinating writer’s friend, to keep him amused. My twelve-year-old niece, however, is bashing away non-stop. Every available minute, she’s tapping away, building her word count. I am sooooooo jealous. Yesterday, she and I went for a walk down by the river. Two writers, out in the countryside, enjoying the peace and a bit of literary chat. She said she was a bit stuck with her story, and I certainly am with mine, so I thought we’d talk it all through and arrive at the mill for a hot chocolate with our heads clear and notebooks ready. Hah! I did the same with her brother about a week ago. Boy can he talk. Yak, yak, yak all the way down our lane, across the bridge and up the riverbank. He only fell quiet when he sipped his drink. And was his sister any different? Nah.
This morning, I suggested a quiet time in the front room whilst Mum was at work. The three of us had a laptop each. My nephew solved his solitaire and e-fireworks lit up his screen as a reward. My niece immediately overcame her writers’ block and disappeared into the world she has created. I played Spider Solitaire, checked my emails, played Spider Solitaire again… Then, my sister came home and rescued me.
‘Why are you stuck?’ she asked. I told her, we talked about it and I wrote down some ideas. This afternoon I went to the river alone. By the time I got to the mill, my mind was buzzing and I sat in the warm, sipping my latte and scratching away in my notebook. Hoo-flipping-rah!
What I want to know is, was life in the Haworth parsonage like this ? (Without the electricity, obviously.)