So my last post was about how long it took to get a blog published (not on this site, obviously). Just thought I’d ad a quick counter-narrative about a guest blog that got published superfast.
My wife keeps a regular column on the Presbyterian Record website. Notionally, it updates every Monday. Sometimes, that competes with other things, and a couple of weeks ago, we had very dear Canadian friends visiting – Presbyterians, to boot, so when the kids were all in bed and we were having a cool drink around the kitchen table, it was time for her to sigh and start to crowd-source some ideas for the blog. (Or canvas lots of, “No, no, just write it tomorrow” comments; sadly, the Presbyterianness of our visitors meant they cared a lot about what she wrote and thought it would be good to put something up on time and in good order.)
So in my typical offhanded way, I start spouting off things she could write about, and after just a couple of minutes of this, she says, or I say (I can’t remember, and that’s probably what’s good about being married) “Why don’t I just write it? Another guest post – when was the last one I did?” It had been over six months, and that was a Christmas present and something I had already plotted and planned.
Rather than retiring to the upstairs office to write, which is what my wife typically does, I just gassed up the ol’ laptop and started typing right at the table while the other three laughed and told funny stories about when we used to live in the same neighbourhood or cute stories about what our kids do. No more than twenty minutes, it was done, even with me interjecting once or twice in the conversation. She vetted it: it looked fine. Some writing I thought was actually quite clever (my wife noted that this had some similarities in tone to Roald Dahl’s Danny, the Champion of the World, which we had been reading as a bedtime story).
Here’s a sample:
“Were you and Mummy confirmed?”
“Yes,” I say. “I was just a bit older than you are now.”
“Some of the kids who were confirmed today are in the same year of school as me,” she says.
“Hmm.” We pedal a little further on. “Would you like to be confirmed?”
“Well, I’d like to taste the wine,” she replies. Now that’s an honest answer. “But they said the bread tastes like cardboard.”
“No, it’s not like the bread your mummy bakes.”
The whole thing is here.