Richard Pierce

Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter

Life, Writing

Day 218

This is what happens when you get up early, do radio, and then decide you will take the day as a relax and chill day – you lose track of time, and it ends up being late by the time you even get virtual pen to paper. Doing the show this morning was good fun. Even though I was doing it as a show to add to our pre-record bank for when we’re short of DJs, one of my loyal listeners was messaging me throughout, so it was good to have some company and a bit of banter. And there were other listeners, too, apparently. I still think Radio Stradbroke should be bigger than Radio 1, in all honesty. We’re simply better.

So, it’s early evening already, and I’ve not yet been for my daily walk. I have picked up A from her first work day of the new football season, and now M has taken her back down to the station because she’s off to a party tonight. I remember having that much energy. I did spend an hour or so updating all the podcasts for Radio Stradbroke, and I must have done at least one hour of Greek lessons, too, to add to the 8 hours I’ve already done this week, as well as indulging in one of my favourite lazy pleasures – lying across my bed on my stomach, and reading a book. I enjoy that immensely. It makes me feel relaxed, decadent, and at peace (even if the book I’m reading, like the one now, is about a disturbing subject matter; in this case a novel about slavery which T, my sister in Germany, sent me).

I shall write Aggie after I get back from my walk. I’ll read what I wrote yesterday, and then let that swill around in my mind until it makes new words for me, or the characters make them for me, which is probably more accurate. I do sometimes ask myself what my characters think of me, the guy who carries them around in his head all the time. Do they look at me from the screen as I transcribe what they’re doing, and shake their heads at the middle-aged bloke who sits at the same desk every day, do they ask themselves why I’m actually bothering with their lives, and do they wish I’d just leave them to get on with it rather than interrupting them with my questions and my thoughts as I’m writing down theirs? I guess I’ll never know. But they’re never just characters, are they? They’re real people.




Get notifications of new posts by email.

We don’t spam! Read our privacy policy for more info.

Leave a Reply