I’ve revisited the past. Some time ago four copies of The Author arrived chez Bookwitch. It’s the journal of the Society of Authors, and I suspect Son of having posted them on to me.
They are good journals. And the thing about publishing once a quarter means it takes time to ‘get out there.’
The first one was Spring. It was a world without Covid. It was like some other place completely. I’d almost forgotten I’d been somewhere like that. OK, there was a brief mention of the postponing of Bologna. Remember that? People believed it’d soon be back to normal.
The articles written by a number of authors mentioned their plans for the coming year. It’s perfectly normal, and they were modest plans. But, you know, it felt a bit weird.
I’ve now moved on to Summer and it’s more realistic, albeit still expecting normality to kick back in.
I enjoy them. They are well written, as you’d expect from professionals of this kind. There are also quite a few names of people I know or have met, making it more personal than, say, Good Housekeeping.
And this time effect is the strangest thing. Who’d have thought?