Summer Must End, Hockey Night in Canada, perfect writing weather - and Rio wins!

I've decided to keep Summer Must End as the title for my current book. The more I get into the story, the more I see how the sentiment will fit perfectly. Fingers have been flying this past week and I'm at the 24% mark of my anticipated 95,000 words, or the middle of Chapter Eight, as of last night - late last night, I might add.

It's hockey season again! What a beautiful set of words, for me, at least. In fact, I think I look forward to the winter (which can sometimes be a little tough to take up here) because of the hockey. When autumn leaves start to fall, you may well think of snuggling up on the sofa in a warm afghan with a cup of hot chocolate, or even something stronger, and you could picture, perhaps, a roaring fire, or at least a good creepy movie on TV. For me, it's not the fire or the movie - it's Hockey Night in Canada!

Considering I'm an English-born, Australian-raised Canadian, it's odd how much this game means to me. The younger of my twin sons introduced hockey to me when he was a teenager, and it's stuck ever since. I read somewhere that 'older' women (without giving it a name - those whose hormones are as screwed up as any pubescent teen) tend to gain more testosterone, and that this is the reason for masculine interests. I haven't had any desire to do anything else particularly male, but the study I read seemed plausible. Is it possible I really am, now, one of the guys?

The first game was on last night, and it finished around 10 pm. I tidied up, got ready for bed, got into bed, and then...the voices started. Put this into the plot of a horror novel and it would work very well. In this case, the voices were a couple of my characters, chatting away. Even if I'd had pen and paper handy, it was too much to scribble out, so I went back to my computer. An hour later, I had another chunk of story, around 750 words. I wasn't grouchy about this. I count myself lucky that the words flow so easily. In retrospect, I think the hockey got me so wound up that I didn't have time for my usual head-writing while I was watching, so all of it caught up with me when I hit the sack.

My only concern with the current work is that it could be too long. I have so much to say, so many situations to describe, that I'll have to be very careful with my pruning to keep it contained well. So far I haven't even hinted about the subject, and I'll leave it that way for the time being. This is because things could change. They often do in that first draft. Best wait until I have that Voila! moment, before I share with you.

If you have any interest at all in famous, but vintage, writers, you might want to take a look at this Telegraph newspaper (U.K.) article on P.G. Wodehouse - perhaps you recall his most memorable characters, Bertie Wooster and Jeeves (which name I gave to my rescue cat). This is English writing of a certain age, witty, snobby, and totally delicious. I particularly like the fifth paragraph of the article, where his writing methods are described. I tend to just name people, places or things casually at first, using the red font, and then come back to them, perhaps much, much later, to give them their final names. Wodehouse didn't even do that. He used "hero", "heroine", apparently, deciding later what they'd be called. It's the story that counts, you see? The detail can come later.


So my most favorite city in the world, which I've never visited, Rio de Janeiro, has won the 2016 Games. My commiserations to the other contenders, but Rio! To experience the Olympic Games AND the music, people, beaches and weather of Rio will be truly amazing. Jobim would have been so proud, he would have written another samba just to mark the occasion. In lieu of that, I've added his "Wave" to this posting. Just for the week, you understand.

Have a good one. Wet here, chilly, but great writing weather!