School has been INSET-ing me into a semi-vegetative state creating mission, vision and aim statements. It's like writing, in-so-far as there are words and a fat, felt pen involved but I keep getting the sneakiest of feelings that we are doing this task, on repeat, until we get close enough to the decision that has already been made to make the process seem democratic.
Its like the original Design a School Badge Competition - no one looked more confused to be awarded a prize 'for her winning design' than the girl who couldn't see any element of her design in the finished logo.
I have three headaches at the moment, so that probably counts as a good day here:
1 The one in my head
2 The situation that sees the boy without his college placement - square peg syndrome
3 The boiler that doesn't boil - can't boil, won't boil, shouldn't be allowed to boil, needs to evolve
Also, everything about autumn makes me want to write more of Jess and Caleb's story. The sky here, this evening, was flaming red and yet its unnaturally vibrant shades didn't warm, but warn. All I wanted to do, when I watched the sky become streaked with wisps of orange like irradiated fruit, was make notes in my book diary and writing journal. There are a couple of weeks to my writing's first birthday. The feelings that churn at that thought are just as intense as the way I felt when both cherubs hit the same milestones. I have an attachment to that book that is almost physical, and that feels ... unexpected and, sometimes, too large.
I re-worked the ending of Near Edgware. When I scanned the new ending it seemed that polishing wasn't going to be enough and some serious sanding was required. I was glad to have a legitimate reason to be working to make the story glow. I've got to free it from the masking of a rough surface and let the gem shine - someone wrote a poem like that today - I tell Year 6 it's called magpie-ing.