I’ve been writing an article for the festival issue of Booknotes, and Kate sent it back a few days ago, with some comments. When I read through them, I realised that I’d said a few things automatically, because they seemed like the things I should say, but I hadn’t actually thought about them.
For example, I’d said “Poetry was completely different to architecture.” In her comments Kate had put “(WHY???? THIS IS AN INTERESTING STATEMENT – TEASE IT OUT A LITTLE)”. But when I tried to put my finger on it... they actually had a helluva lot in common.
Down at the architecture school I struggled with abstract and incomprehensible briefs, while up at the Institute the briefs were... er... often abstract and incomprehensible.
At the architecture school we had to present our work to the class, and brace ourselves for a barrage of criticism, where as at the institute... we had to face a classful of critical editors.
Architecture seemed to require the impossible: making something from nothing. Writing, on the other hand...
Well, at architecture school we spent a ridiculous amount of time and money creating models which had no real purpose or usefulness, or even relevance. While at the Institute, we didn’t spend so much money on materials.
See? I told you they were different.
Wanted to give Kate something, to thank her for reading my manuscript, but couldn’t afford wine, and freesias are out of season. It’s almost time to plant them, so I rang around some garden centres, and the woman at Palmers cheerfully told me that the freesia bulbs had just arrived... but they wouldn’t be on sale for a week. Grrrr.