Posted by: oneyearbook | May 25, 2009

Little holiday

We (the boyfriend and I, with his parents, his sister, and his sister’s boyfriend) went camping for a night this weekend at a park up the east coast of the Island this weekend.

Twilight in Rathtrevor

Twilight in Rathtrevor

I haven’t been to the park in question since I was about six but I remember at the time admiring its mix of coastal woodland, long beaches, and meadows dotted with flowering trees, and it did not disappoint this time around either. We left later on Saturday and arrived at the campground (with plush trailer accommodations – this was not a ‘roughing it’ experience) around 5 p.m., in time for hamburgers cooked on the camp stove, a long walk on the trails, skipping stones on the beach, and a hearty campfire. Nearby campsites may have found our campfire singalongs somewhat annoying, or perhaps they appreciated the musical interlude. Hard to say. Nobody told us to shut up.

The next day, after a breakfast that involved chicken bacon (I haven’t quite figured out what to think of that particular item), fried potatoes, pancakes, and eggs (the fridge in the trailer being well-stocked), we went into the nearest town for two highly competitive rounds of mini-golf. Everytime the boyfriend and I go through this part of the Island we have to stop at that place and play mini-golf. It deserves, as they say on their

Self-portrait in sunset shadows

Self-portrait in sunset shadows

website, to be world-famous. I got a hole-in-one on the hole located on the S.V. Sinkaputt (the pirate ship). Much celebration.

It was a most excellent break from the concerns of the book, which have entered that shivery, uncertain phase. After taking a full week break from the text, in order to gain distance, I began the process of reading it through on Friday afternoon and am now about a quarter of the way in. Week break or no, distance does not seem to have been well-gained. I am vacillating now between throwing my hands up in the air in disgust and repeating the mantra, ‘Being too critical now is not useful.’ I think that is probably true; the thing to do now is to remember that this draft was a very rough draft and that I knew going into it that the hard work was only just begun. When I read I have a pencil and I mark little notes on the blank backs of pages – my main note is about the inconsistency of tone, or voice, in the book. Some scenes pop with assurance; they read right; but others are miserable slogs. It is now a matter of figuring out what enlivens the good ones and applying it, like a salve, to the bad ones.

You may wish me luck, as now is the time I will need it.

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