The land may vary more;
But wherever the truth may be—
The water comes ashore,
And the people look at the sea.
They cannot look out far.
They cannot look in deep.
But when was that ever a bar
To any watch they keep?
(Robert Frost’s “Neither out far nor in deep”, end of)
I’ve spent most of the last seven weeks looking at the sea (our Crete place is by the sea). Now when I was younger, I found the sea boring. Instead of going to the Med., my husband and I (plus dachshunds, Rachel came miles later) clambered up hills all over the UK: Lake District, the Peak District, Scotland, the Brecon Beacons etc. etc. Even some Austrian and Swiss mountains, though mostly we took cable cars up and walked down those, because they were too much for me even in the summer, lol. (I mean, we were young and fit back then, but nothing like mountaineers.)
It was only once I turned fifty I fell for the sea, and with an audible clunk. Far from being always the same, its moods are many and various. Even in the summer months, there are tossing windstorms and seething shorelines as well as waves hardly making a ripple along the shore. Even an hour’s passing can change the feel. (In the winter… it’s wild!) The colours are always altering; Every sunset is subtly different against the sea. The horizon, though seemingly an immoveable line, will be varying too. The transparent texture of the sky beside the sea is a different thrill every morning.
The temptation – to simply watch – is so great I have to write facing away from the sea – which I have, for the past two months. With self-discipline like that (lol) you won’t be amazed to hear that my fifth standalone Austenesque book is being edited and will soon be ready for ARC readers. Please email astmcveigh@gmail.com if interested in an advance copy, if willing and able to post an early review on Amazon in October. It’s called Marianne, a Sense and Sensibility sequel, and yes, there have already been a few, but none like this one! As a professional cellist, have always felt an infinity with Marianne, who is mentioned as playing ‘magnificent concertos’ on the pianoforte. (Please note: I cannot do this. Playing two lines at once does my tiny brain in. But hey, I still spent twenty-five years supporting myself in London orchestras. Music, to me, is like breathing.)
The last four days, however, have been lousy. They have been spent in bed looking out on the sea, with a flu germ, which is why this is late, apologies to Regina. Back to London tomorrow, where the nearest coast is long hours away…
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