I have been trying to re-start my novel lately, as, being retired, you do. Then I thought, "Who on earth would want to read about a novel set in the sixties"? Well, probably not the young generation. What was I thinking? Then one day last week I switched on the radio to my favourite program - "Woman's World" broadcast from London - and I heard someone being interviewed about her new book. This someone's name was (say, Elmarie Venter), and I thought, funny, I was at school with someone of that name. Then the interviewer went on that the writer was born in 1950 (my age) and went to CHSforGirls, (my school!) Not only that, she was in my class. Oh my goodness, it must be her - and her book was about the sixties, the Mods & Rockers, and about our home town. The interview lasted about 5 minutes. What are the chances? So I looked her up and sent an e-mail. What a great correspondence ensued, swapping memories of old times - she even remembered my nickname. She is a retired barrister and is on her third book. Sales are looking fantastic. She is so excited. So am I. Of course, women our age read these things. I confess for the first time in my life to a tiny competitive instinct. I tried to find the words I wrote two years ago: I had forgotten what I called the file, but no matter, I found it eventually. I've started again: it was a bit depressing as my first 3500 words became 2999 after I had done some editing of the appalling bits. Still. Although it is progressing slowly, I find I need to churn bits of plot over in my mind before committing anything to paper. I admire the real writers who are disciplined enough to force themselves to sit down every day and do so many words. The thing that worries me most is that there are no murders or gory bits - the things that I like to read myself. About the coincidence though.
It's almost enough to stop me being an etheist. They say a coincidence occurs when God wants to appear anonymous.