I’m working on a small grant at the moment. It’s been years since I tried my hand at grant-writing. Six years or more, and oh! what a coincidence, the same time number of years I’ve been employed in one of those distracting “real jobs” I was telling you about a yesterday.
The project for which I’m applying for a grant requires the services of a musician and a record producer, and promises to be a fantastic outcome should it happen. I’ll keep you posted because I think it will be something other writers would be interested in too! Cue the mmmm..mystery trill.
Amid the flurry of emails to try to shore up letters of support and arduous conjuring of appropriate wordage for the grant (hey now, it’s not all dry-biscuity stuff; I did have an amusing aside with the record producer about how he twice appeared on the UK Top of The Pops in 1974, walking in slow circles with a lit candle in a monk outfit whilst singing a 17th century Christmas hymn and later chatting with Leo Sayer—what a gig!), I spent a lot of time on the keyboard. So much time that by about 4pm my hands were aching, my feet were swollen, and my brain had disintegrated. I was had it.
They say that sitting is the new smoking. And if I am to take up full-time writing again, I will need to be more careful about how I spend my day. Health warnings abound for sitting too long; eye strain, back injury, repetitive strain injury to the hands, seizures, deep vein thrombosis, anxiety, depression, and damn it, even cancer. Yikes!
But I found this!
I’m printing that sucker off and blue-tacking it to the wall next to my desk. Because I have a feeling this sitting thing will be ongoing.