WordPress has gone all weird again. I got a lovely load of comments on yesterday’s post, mainly from other writers who are every bit as insecure as I am, being supportive, commiserating and also loving the snow. I like the snow too although it seems a tad inappropriate at the moment, what with the weather being so mild. Obviously it’s nice that the weather is mild rather than freezing but it does make one worry about global warming.
So at the moment I am working on a very old story. This is one of the oldest stories in my repertoire as it was originally a chapter of a novel; the first novel I ever finished. The first one I wrote was when I was eight; however it only ran to half a page and then stopped: I’ve been trying to get back to that novel for fifty years. But the first I ever finished was called Seven Days and was the story of a woman stuck in a nuclear bunker. It was written during the Cold War years and it’s not immediately obvious where she is; even at the end it’s not clear whether she is really in a bunker or whether it’s all in her mind and she is, say, in a mental hospital. Anyway, the chapter which became a story explains how she got where she is. It’s set in the future – though only about 50 years or so – at a time when thoughts can be extracted from the mind and studied. She works for a peace project which is attempting to defuse a very complex and highly aggressive thought which, if unleashed, could prove very destructive.
The story is called A Saturday Afternoon in the Museum of Thought and it needs a lot of work to get it up to scratch. I’ve been at it all morning and now I’m taking a break.
So: WordPress is being all different again, which means it’s reorganised itself and now I don’t know where to find anything. Why do things have to keep doing that? My email has changed as well – you keep having to relearn things when you’ve only just learnt them. It’s not fair.
In my day, things didn’t keep changing every five minutes.
Kirk out
PS if you’re not in the UK and wondering why I put ‘the wrong sort of snow’ as a title, it refers to a remark (unfortunately wrongly) attributed to British Rail explaining why the trains weren’t running.
Sarada Gray 