Visiting Royalty

 That's me visiting them, not them visiting me. King John of Magna Carta fame  to be precise - and Henry VIII's older brother, Prince Arthur. 

Those in the know will have deduced that I spent a day last week in Worcester. My first time in the city. As well a coffee, lunch and lots of gossip with long standing friend Mary, I visited Worcester Cathedral - last resting place of John and Arthur - or bits of them, as there was a habit of burying body parts, usually the heart, in different places. King John's reign was not one I have ever studied - most of my knowledge of him comes from Shakespeare - and Arthur was overshadowed by the exploits of his little brother, who married his widow, Katherine of Aragon. And we all know how that ended,

I was very impressed with the cathedral, even without its royal inhabitants. It was a magnificent building, with an amazing ceiling, lots of lovely stained glass, including a window memorializing Sir Edward Elgar, who was local to the area,  and a number of other memorials and painted tombs. I was particularly drawn to an intriguing one where the lady of the partnership was resting her head on a black swan. Apparently she is thought to be Joan Beauchamp, buried next to Sir John, her husband, although this is not 100% certain.  Her tomb was certainly interesting enough to attract my attention. The ashes of former Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin, along with those of his wife, are also interred in the cathedral but in a part that was roped off - so I did not get close enough to inspect the plaque. 

I was so fascinated by wandering and reading that I did not remember to take any pictures, which is very remiss of me. There were cloisters, a cafe, which we did not patronize, although I have to say the smell of what they were serving for lunch was very enticing. The visit was completed by a mooch in a small but very well stocked gift shop, and I started my festive preparations by buying Xmas cards! 

I don't think any of the people or things I saw will be making it into a book any time soon, but it was a lovely day out, and I recommend the cathedral as a fascinating site for a lengthy prowl. If you like history, it is one for you. 

It's not just the writing.

 Writing a book requires application - time and effort. It's not easy to get 80,000 odd words on a paper (And yes, some of them are odd. Stop sniggering at the back). But writing is actually a lot more than this. It's editing, proof checking, fact checking - of course - but there is also the need for 'headspace' . This is the nebulous bit, and often the one that causes the most problems. Scribbling in a notebook, sitting at a keyboard, revising a manuscript - all these are visible. You are doing something, and seen to be doing something.  But none of this will happen unless you know what you are doing before you start doing it. Even those who only do minimal plotting have to have an idea of where they are going, of the nature of their characters, of the setting, of timescale and relationships, even if these do tend to work themselves out on the page. 

All this needs thinking time - and often this is the most difficult thing to manage. If you are diverted by the day job, stressed by health concerns, distracted by family issues - even if you just have workpersons in the house  - your head does not have room for the world building that needs to go on, consciously or unconsciously. I can't count the times fellow authors have told me that they have not been able to move forward with the current manuscript not because they don't want to, but simply because they don't have the space to think. 

There are ways around it. Some people use music. A well known channel is the 'plot walk' - a walk during which you think about plot. Easy. Jobs and chores that don't require a lot of thought can free your mind to wander. I did a shedload of ironing over the weekend and spent the time while flattening the pyjamas and tea towels  trying to work out a complex network of family connections in my head. If she was his cousin, instead of his sister ... All in relation to a will and an inheritance, of course. 

I'm definitely being pulled along by those cosy crime stories I have said keep bubbling up. 

The bigger the bubbles, the greater the attraction ...

But it's a very good box ...

 Am I exhibiting advanced adulting - or turning into a cat? 

You've all seen the memes about the adult debate over keeping a box because it is a very good box. And the ones of the cat ignoring the expensive toy/cat tree in favour of the box it came in. Even lions like them. I have occasionally wondered if there is something about the smell of the cardboard? 

I say this, because I am currently surrounded by cardboard boxes. Yes, I have been indulging in some internet shopping - a set of shelves for the bathroom. two large plant pots for the bulbs I have ordered that have not yet arrived, a new door mat ...

So why am I keeping the boxes? We won't go into the fun of wrestling with recalcitrant acres of card, attempting to chop it into pieces acceptable to the recycling collectors - these days it all has to fit into the orange sack or it doesn't get taken away. Oh for the days of simply propping your Ikea boxes up beside the bin bags ... Although I did manage to break my wrist doing that when I fell down the front steps manhandling them into position.  These days I am wary of severing an artery while wielding a knife ...

But we digress. I'm saving them because I am currently decluttering, and they are going to be filled with donations for the charity collectors. That is my story, and I am sticking to it. 

Of course, I might just be turning into a cat ...