A Melancholy Waltz

A song that evokes a time, place, sense of well-being, romance, happiness. We all have an era in our world of music that somehow slips in to the soul and remains forever ours.

If I had to choose an era it would be of Japan the band, the artist David Sylvian. I’ve only recently returned to listening to his music; the older stuff, as I’ve finally shifted from LP to CD, choosing to allow the music of the very early 80’s (and I had forgotten just how far back all this was) to come back in to our home -alive again.

Am I pining for a long-gone past? Not really. Who wants to relive Thatcherism? Yeah, I know, we are.

Nightporter’s a waltz, slow, dark. The far east weaves through it, of course. And I can remember being in a dark room of a grand house on the moors, the moon split by leaded windows as it hung closely by in the clear sky. It was cold, but we danced a fine melancholy waltz. I was sixteen. He hadn’t heard the song before or the band. 

And it’s possible to be dignified at sixteen when the world around you is falling apart, and to have a moment of serenity despite the anger and sense of injustice. But when the waltz stops, it’s time to return to work.

How much do we writers consider the importance of music in our characters’ lives?


Dream On

Sitting here on a Sunday morning and grateful for the peace and quiet around me, it feels as though autumn is reluctantly making an entrance. Yesterday was so humid outside, yet the house was cool enough to put on a couple of heaters.

It would take a good few days to reflect on the week that has just passed. Beginning a diploma in person-centred counselling was one major event -a whole day dedicated to unconditional positive regard per week and the challenges that will bring. I have yet to decide whether it will suit me as I have become more and more rights-oriented especially in recent years. I noted this in my reflective journal.

I won’t be saying very much about the course, other than thoughts on my own development during it.

Other things have happened. Long meetings too. An offer made to train and to study  -but more on that another time.

We watched Inception again last night and it seemed to mirror the complexity of the week that has gone by. Not layers of dreams, but of experiences. And I wonder how many people are trying to make their dreams come true.





Stuck in the Second Dimension – who sir me sir, yes sir you sir

This weekend has lost itself to a world of imagination after a week of meetings, reality-ville and observations on human behaviour in group settings.

I have spent the last 2 days wondering if my characters’ accents are right and thinking about their backgrounds, their beliefs and what drives them. It seems quite an indulgent thing to do. As does reading all morning. But somehow, after a week of smackety-smackety bla bla bla from the mouths of adults, my characters seem more important. Thinking about villains conjures up 1 or 2 real-life people who would qualify for the role of  ‘master deviant’ or ‘twisted sister’ but I’m sure they would be shocked if they knew what was going through my mind. Actually, if you’re not a fiction writer, be prepared!

Back to the group gatherings – they have all been concerned with tradition, culture and the future. Strangely, they have not included young people. One would think they would be important on such matters. Actually one meeting did have young people present, and it was refreshing, one thing led to another and they decided they were going to do something.

The adults stepped back, as they should.

But this wasn’t the case for other meetings this last week. It was more of the same. Old folk chewing the fat. Tradition is important! History is important! Philosophy is important!

And all I could hear was,’If I were a rich man……….’