Well, it has been a busy summer but unfortunately not on the writing front. Work, family and archaeology as well as my annual summer-long lethargy, have all conspired to push my literary efforts firmly into the background and my writing has been limited to frantically scribbling ideas down to make sure they are not lost to sleep or fading memory. The good news is that means I do now have the basis for at least half a dozen more ghostly tales, dragged from the depths of my imagination over the last couple of weeks, which for me, truth be told, is a lot more the half the battle.
The better news is that summer is a rapidly fading memory, the nights are closing in and we have begun the Sacred Season. So what, I hear you ask, is the Sacred Season? And why is it good news for your sometime spooky scribbler? Draw closer dear reader and let me explain.
There are some people in this life who view the shortening days and the darkening evenings with trepidation and even fear. These poor benighted souls suffer from what is known as Seasonal Affective Disorder and, for some, the arrival of the autumn is the trigger for depression and sickness. Whilst daylight lamps might bring some relief, the only real cure is the return of the lengthening days in the spring when once again they can walk in the sun both literally and figuratively. But there are some who suffer from what might be termed a form of reverse Seasonal Affective Disorder. For us, it is the lengthening days which bring with them lethargy, ennui and depression. My creative ability evaporates in the sunlight and the heat of the summer shrivels my mind and drives out all originality and inspiration. By August I am like a lost soul crawling across the barren deserts of Arabia, searching in vain for shade and water - or perhaps a bottle of Corona with a slice of lime in the top. Even though by the end of that dead month we are ten weeks or so past mid summer and the days are surely shortening towards the autumn equinox, the last of the summer heat still weighs heavy on my psyche.
And then one evening it happens. I step outside the door and there is that faintest of chills in the air. The last of the swallows are bidding farewell to the old outhouses where they have been rearing their young and there is a burgeoning harvest moon creeping over the top of the wood on the far side of the meadow. Summer is finally over, autumn is just around the corner and I can shake off my torpor and begin to live again. More importantly I can begin to write again.
So now we have the setting; shortening days, chilly nights, mists and mellow fruitfulness - as that clever bloke Keats once put it. And now we add some of our favourite old traditional celebrations. Harvest Festival, Mabon, Halloween and Samhain, Bonfire Night, Yule, Christmas and New Year. Add in a scattering of birthdays and you have the makings of one long party. If you want to stretch it you can start with The Last Night of the Proms in early September and run through to Candlemas on 2nd February, all to the wonderful accompaniment of gales, driving snow and sub zero temperatures. It is truly a time of wonder and joy when one really feels alive.
Of course it is also the perfect excuse for two of the great pleasures in life - ghost stories and Calvados.
Pass the book and the bottle old chap.
