Life is a train of moods like a string of beads...

"...and as we pass through them they prove to be many coloured lenses, which paint the world their own hue, and each shows us only what lies in its own focus."

 How wise was Ralph Waldo Emerson? Very wise. In case you're wondering.

I've been pondering a chicken and egg dilemma for the last couple of days.

I'm feeling fit and healthy, happy and creative, making a positive difference to others - and opportunities and exciting prospects are flying into my life as though unbidden.

 That report I dare not read - about Of Night And Light - well, although there's more work to be done, the phrase that sticks in my mind is 'very well-presented, exceptionally well-written.' Usually, it's the negatives that leap off the page...

The animator who said he'd get back to me in a week-ish and in fact took six-ish (busy with Disney, don't you know!) - said, yesterday, "I have read your stories – they are really fab.  My favourite is Belief in Cod though – really great original funny story," - and his  company is looking to pitch to get it, and perhaps others, made.

YET...when I was unwell, unmotivated, withdrawn, lacking in creativity and low on optimism...

NOTHING POSITIVE HAPPENED 

 So - which came first? The open heart and cheerful disposition which magically allowed opportunities to flourish - or the great opportunities, which then improved my mood?

I swear it was the first. I created that as much as I created the stultifying inaction that allowed nothing to move forward in my world.

Life is not so short but that there is always time for courtesy

Ralph Waldo Emerson has always been a hero of mine and, with that sentiment, he's just been elevated to Super Hero.

(I was unable to find a picture of him wearing his underpants on top of his tights)

Lack of courtesy is an ongoing complaint for me in my working and writing life.

This is the sort of thing that happens time after time...

A director or film producer requests one of my screenplays. I send it off with a courteous e-mail. I wait. The director or producer doesn't acknowledge receipt. He (they are almost always male) doesn't ever contact me again, to say something as short and simple as 'Thank you for sending me your screenplay. I'm afraid it's not what we're looking for at the moment."

That is just completely inexcusable and downright RUDE.

If I dare to mention it, I get treated like some sort of imbecile who plainly doesn't understand quite how busy and important a person he is to bother with insignificant little writers like me. (A writer who creates the film with which he will achieve fame and fortune and without which he wouldn't have a film to make)

Or, I get something like 'Oh, that's how it is in "the industry."' Well, I'm sorry but IT BLOODY WELL SHOULDN'T BE.

One thing is - I wouldn't want to work with anyone as rude and patronising and full of self-importance. Another thing is that I'm not the sort of person merely to complain. I want to change this culture.

Wish me luck!

I'd let you know how I'm getting on but then you'd have to reply to me...

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, arrives the snow...

 ...and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed in a tumultuous privacy of storm. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Yes, people of the world - only a pathetic 5 or 6 inches, but that's a lot for us, honest. Enough for the whole country to grind to a standstill. Except for those of us who think, with stiff British upper lip, of Scott of the Antarctic and especially Captain Oates.

"I am just going outside and may be some time."

I love it. The horses love it.

Olive Oyl performed magnificently - her first venture out in the snow. Memories of years of sliding about in a front-wheel-drive Vauxhall Omega evaporated in an instant.

And now I'm back, safe and warm and considering myself to be very lucky, haunted by the thought of homeless people. 

I could DO something, not just THINK something.