Notes from the Cotswolds – March 2016
Lately I have been thinking a lot about numbers and, as an author, this has thrown me a little. These days, I am all about the words – a neat turn of phrase, a humorous analogy, a lovely alliteration. But the numbers kept creeping into my head and rather than fighting them, I decided to see where it would take me.
Walking The Ancient Spaniel yesterday, as the spring sunshine tempted me out into the fields, the divide suddenly became clear, between the numbers that matter in life and the numbers that simply don’t:
I could count how many wonderful friends I can call on, day or night, whether for celebration or crisis. I could revel in the number of Sunday hours spent talking nonsense and baking with my family. Even thank my lucky stars for the fourteen amazing years The Ancient Spaniel has been my constant companion.
Clearly these numbers are worthy of my time and consideration – an emotional investment.
But I fear that we are all in grave danger of focusing on the other kind – the irrelevant kind: waist measurements, wedding weight, bonuses and Facebook likes. And if we spend all our time with these numbers, then surely the balance of our lives and our enjoyment of them will skew accordingly?
Now – even as a wordsmith – I do have history with numbers. Maths homework always gave me a certain pleasure as a child – when it was done, it was done and there was no subjectivity to my grade. Numbers always seemed like a safe option.
But now, as a writer, I have found that the numbers can also lie: I could check my word-count spreadsheet (yes, I do have one and I love it!) at the end of the first draft of a novel and see the total reach that magic goal – the numbers tell me I am finished. But I can tell you, quite assuredly, that I am not.
All the nuance, the emotion and sincerity comes from the words – from my imagination and from the experiences in my own life that have shaped it. The numbers are wrong and I am barely half way there.
And whilst it’s good to know how many words I have committed to paper, it is the quality, not the quantity that counts. So next time the numbers start tripping you up and demanding your attention, please stop and think about whether they actually deserve your time?
Perhaps, like me though, there are some numbers that bring back lovely memories and you don’t want to forget them – as a child of the 70s, we memorised phone numbers as a sign of friendship and because my mind has a habit of slipping into autopilot, I still on occasion end up chatting to my childhood friends’ parents by mistake. They’re all terribly sweet about it and it’s nice to know they’re doing well, but maybe it’s time I memorised some new numbers and got myself up to date?
Penny Parkes 