Gales, floods last week. Wind sucked down the chimney. House full of smoke. Hacked smoke alarms off ceilings with a screw driver. Telephone line out of action and the kitchen turning to stone as the wind blew the Aga out. And always the howling and moaning insistent wind picking and pulling at the windows and doors. Lost my balance. Couldn't hear, smell, see. The horses were wild, calling to each other in panic sensing the river rising up through the ground. For three days and nights I twisted and fretted. Awake, reading The Cat's Table at 3am, I realised the power of the writer's art to create another world. I inhabited the Oronsay. It's a brilliant book. Then the wind dropped. Epiphany. I started making a giant pagan egg - a sort of virginal momento mori with crowns of dried wild flowers and a pressed rose like staunched blood. Need to paint more flowers and then throw something at it. I've gessoed ripped lace on the bottom of the egg. I think it needs Miss Lasqueti's scar - her rage at the man who took her and tried to suck all that was her out of her- who turned back her hand holding the scissors and drove it into her stomach.
Today is the day of sending off an edit after weeks of stalling to my editor. Three new chapters and I still haven't linked up the narrative . For some reason the plot keeps sliding off sideways - but I will get there.