This is probably the strangest year of my life. I am still writing away like mad, which I love doing, and I haven’t been on a bus since March. Not that I travel on buses if I can help it. More than anything I’m missing the fun of planning a holiday and looking forward to it. For both COVID and non-COVID reasons it’s hard to imagine being able to go anywhere. I was planning to travel down the Rhine when I retired – not by boat but by train – and to try and get as far as Italy if I could. That might as well be a journey to the moon now, the chances of doing it are so remote. But at least we are now allowed to have tea in the garden with some close family members.
I think the lack of a summer holiday is the worst aspect of the pandemic so far, from my point of view. I am mostly very content to be at home all day with the cats and to have a bit more time than usual to write. This month I’m working on a write-up of my family history research, with two side projects – turning one of my short stories into a musical, and trying to shorten a novella into a short story. The family history is going better than I expected, except that I keep stopping to do odd bits of research. Some parts of the family are easier to write about than others. I’m rather alarmed by the number of lunatics, although I suspect some of them suffered from old age, physical ailments or depressive tendencies and not from anything dangerous.
Thanks to everyone who has bought and/or read one of my historical novels recently. There has been quite a noticeable surge in sales and Kindle Unlimited page reads for all of them and I’m particularly pleased with the reception ‘The Unwilling Heir’ has had as it was my favourite one to write.