Start the week #40

The solution to last week's puzzle revealed!

Start the week #40

Greetings!

Now, before you start, I know that today is not Monday, that was yesterday. But here’s what happened. As a rule, I plan out these posts in the form of a bulleted list. This time I didn’t. That would have been ok, except that on Sunday I sat in the garden reading and writing, and gradually got colder and colder. By the time I should have quickly bashed out crafted this article, I couldn’t think of a thing to write. And then, by the time I remembered, it was too late. So this was penned last night instead, and I hope that puts it all into perspective.

But enough of this persiflage! On with the newsletter.

Kissing

It must be hard to write about kissing without sounding either completely over the top or somewhat gross. But some writers manage it quite well. Even though I was only about 14 when I read Cider With Rosie by Laurie Lee, I have never forgotten that wonderful line:

“We kissed, once only, so dry and shy, it was like two leaves colliding in air.”

Nabokov, in his short story Spring in Fialta, describes what might be called an anti-kiss:

“…she kissed me thrice with more mouth than meaning.”

I should also like to add Nathan Slake’s foray into the kiss territory. In the latest instalment of his novella Brae’s Meteorite, he writes:

“It was a single kiss; long and soft and carrying with it a warmth that no other could ever bring about.”

This kind of writing is very evocative, as is the song I’d like to share with you, and with which you may be familiar. It’s Al Stewart’s The Year of the Cat. The music is superb and the lyrics wonderful. The part that stands out for me is:

“She comes out of the sun in a silk dress running like a watercolour in the rain.”

It reminds me of a girl I went out with while at uni. Yvette (not her real name) was beautiful on the inside as well as the outside, and whenever I hear Year of the Cat I think of her. I shall write about her one of these days.

Here’s the song:

Eye test

Last week I went for an eye test, as I’ve been getting headaches recently. By sheer coincidence, I made an appointment for two years to the day of my previous one. It reminded me of an exchange I had with a class of 14 year-olds when I was teaching:

Me: I went for an eye test at the weekend.

Student: Oh yes?

Me: Yes. It was really embarrassing.

Student: Why?

Me: Well, the optician fancied me.

Student: How do you know?

Me: Because she kept looking into my eyes.

Class: But that’s what opticians are supposed to do!!

Me: No, this was over and above the call of duty. I mean she was looking at me through some sort of telescope thing. I couldn’t get away fast enough.

Class: 🙄

Hidden number

In last week’s post I put in a hidden number, with loads  of clues. A couple of people got the answer right, but as they seemed to do it through sheer guesswork, or possibly telepathy, I’m not sure I should say who they are. Oh, why don’t I give them the benefit of the doubt? They were Nathan Slake, June Girvin and Mitchell Allen. Click on those links to visit — and subscribe to — their newsletters.

The idea of hiding a number in plain sight was inspired by my reading Once Upon a Prime, which is all about that sort of thing and which I did a mini review (or preview) of last week. A proper review will be forthcoming once I’ve read it completely. The idea of hiding something in plain sight may be found in a Jewish proverb: If you want to hide a tree, plant it in a forest.

But enough beating about the bush. The hidden number was (drum roll) 13.

And here are the clues:

1.       The number of the Start the Week was 39, which is 3x13.

2.       It was published at 13:00 UK time on the Tuesday.

3.       I wrote “I hope this post is not unlucky”.

4.       There were 13 main sections.

5.       The first proper section, the introduction, consisted of 13 sentences, each of which contained 13 words.

6.       I linked to 13 articles published on Substack in the previous week.

I hope you enjoyed that challenge!

In other news

I decided to implement the archive paywall, by which posts go behind a paywall after two weeks. I’ve depaywalled some of the posts, such as all my letters to Rebecca (see below) and a few others. I’m keeping the price of a paid subscription the same for the foreseeable future, and I think it is phenomenal value for money. But then, to borrow from Mandy Rice-Davies, I would say that, wouldn’t I?¹

According to Substack Reads, the blogging boom is back. I didn’t think it had ever gone away, but became rather downplayed. It’s good to see it being promoted again.

I didn’t get to read many Substack articles last week, but here are a few standout ones. I have already mentioned Nathan’s novella instalment. I also enjoyed Mitchell Allen’s new take on Soduko: Plus there was fiction by Jim Cummings: Death Art, with a trigger warning you should heed. I very much enjoyed Julie Hester’s article on being good stewardesses of our stories, and Rebecca Holden’s Guiding a creative project, and her latest letter to me in which she fabricates evidence to make it look like I dispatched King Duncan in the play Macbeth. But I shall be avenged when I reply to her this Wednesday. Snigger.

In case you missed them

This week I wrote:

Learning from the Mulla, which was a guest post on Dr Kathleen Waller’s Yoga Culture newsletter, and about a character called Mulla Nasrudin.

How I tackled the synchysis style, a behind the scenes look at how I managed to write an ‘experiment in style’ synchysis post.

Experiments in Style: another point of view.

Coming up

My next letter to Rebecca will be published, I hope, on Wednesday, ie tomorrow. To make sure you see Rebecca’s no doubt scurrilous response, subscribe to hers right now:

Then on Thursday (it’s all go here at Freedman Towers), another post of mine will be published over on the Soaring Twenties Social Club, which should also subscribe to so as to not miss some excellent writing.

Well that’s it for this week. I hope you found this interesting. Please feel free to share this article, and comment.

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1. “While giving evidence at the trial of Stephen Ward, charged with living off the immoral earnings of Christine Keeler and Mandy Rice-Davies, Rice-Davies (18 years old at that time) made the quip for which she is now best remembered: when the defence counsel, James Burge, pointed out that Lord Astor denied an affair or having even met her, she retorted "Well, he would, wouldn't he?" (often misquoted as "Well he would say that, wouldn't he?")” Source: Wikipedia.