Some years were key for my book, others not so much, 1958 being one of them. Answers to the question: Charles de Gaulle returned to power and one reactor design received patronage; and England’s favored reactor design found favor in Italy and Japan.
Took me ages to sort that one out. Not sure if it matters.
Wanna write a murder mystery? Can’t come up with a plot? Look around! A guy who married badly for just one year kills himself. Will his widow get the loot? Turns out he composed a text message on his phone, leaving his belongings to his brother, not the widow, but never sent the message. Is it a valid will? The parties battle in court. The widow loses. Imagine Detective Bosch: hey, was it a suicide after all?
Last day at the heavenly Lucky Bat Cafe, some 10 kilometers north of Darwin’s centre. Workday number 6 of 8 Darwin days, the other 2 brilliantly spent birding. I haven’t had long workdays here but after a slow start last week, they’ve developed into wonderful, intense, don’t-look-up drafting stints. Steady, steady, steady.
Reading John le Carre invites one to write twisted, dark romps of spy thrillers. Plots worthy of any thriller hack but limned with virtuoso wordsmithing! I dashed through A Legacy of Spies, a final (I believe) le Carre trot through his world of Smiley. This may just end up as a sidelight to the author’s classics, but a complete pleasure nonetheless. By the way, George Smiley isn’t given a star role here but what we get is pitch-perfect. My recommendation? Grab, devour, and commence writing . . . you too have a Smiley within you.
A solo jogger from way back, yesterday I tried company. 71 runners in the Palmerston Parkrun in Darwin. Only 5 kms but the heat, even early, was unfamiliar, and the photos show me huffing. Daughter Donna was far more relaxed.
A 5-km lonesome run would cost me just over half an hour. Parkrun plus coffee . . . some three hours. That’s a big disadvantage in my book. But here’s the thing: I enjoyed myself and had a sense that group running would eventually stimulate a faster me.
A grey Melbourne day ideal for running, a week ago. I don’t feel especially fleet of foot but decide on impulse to do my 10 kms in “Fartlek” style. I’m no expert and didn’t consult any reference, but my knowledge of this form of training is to alternate fast stretches with recovery slow ones. So I alternate slow kilometers with significantly faster ones. I’m sure I don’t do the method justice – psychologically I can’t force myself to run fast enough – but the effect is exhilarating. Fast means a 6:00 mins/km pace or thereabouts, slow means 6:30. The end result? 6:20, sore hamstrings, and a feeling of exultation.
Perhaps this “year of fitness” is making me fitter? Perhaps next year I can aspire to some ambition, a faster Andres, someone who tries competitions?
A new tech of the magical atom . . . countries smashing each other to dominate . . . PR galore . . . all described in the flat tones of a textbook. My task is to bring it to life. My mind won’t shape the clay. I find this tough.