Yet another sprinkling of snow, which by urban Dorset standards almost makes it a ski resort, except the community comes to a grinding halt because no one can steer their steeds of steel over six inches of snow and of course, food supplies will run out in twenty four hours.
Otherwise, it is a wonderful reminder of the biting winters of childhood spent between Wales and Essex, when rivers were frozen and I could skate along the pavements to school in my leather soled shoes. When I returned home the stoked and roaring fires meant I could dry my socks and discarded slush sodden gloves and watch them steaming above the furnace of embers, whilst wrapped in a blanket drinking hot milk and listening to the radio accompanied by the constant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall.
For me these are the sounds of childhood, embedded in my memory bank, the ease with which I imagined the people who lived in these aural worlds beyond the veil of Bakelite.
Tonight, unless it is cancelled due to the weather, I am due to give a talk to a writing group on writing for radio. Radio is the one medium where every word needs to be carefully chosen for its properties of recall. To be able to write radio well is indeed an art as well as a craft. To be able to paint and bring alive invisible images through the subtle use of sound or noise, to put flesh on the bones of the characters who are strangers to our eyes but friends to our ears, this is indeed the sharpening stone that many writers cut their teeth on.
In Poole town centre, the TAPS group will gather for a night of comedy and sketches with Mr. Jug and yet again, diary clashes prove the age old theory of famine or feast. It is with a degree of excitement and trepidation I look forward to meeting a new writing group, facing the questions and sharing the knowledge of writing for radio, learning what people like about it, how it moves them, talking with my potential audience.
If it is a 'snow day' where you are I hope you make the most of it, if you can put your feet up in front of the fire, toast marshmallows or crumpets, listen to the afternoon play on Radio 4 or read a good book, enjoy the moment for it will all too quickly disappear.
Love and hugs Foxi
1 comment:
oh dear Rosie, no snow day here, but you KNOW how I appreciated mine. But your words on radio made my hair stand on end: the importance of EVERY word. How true that is, and how difficult it must be to prepare a piece for that medium.
I'm loving your blog, please write as much as you can!
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