That time of year again. Summer is drawing to an end and dusk falls earlier each evening. Another year has passed, uncertainty persists.
Today, I made a piano recording of the Mozart Sonata in C, K545, sometimes dubbed “Beginner” – an odd description, given the technical demands throughout. This delightful work contains two movements reminiscent of a piano concerto ( hence, my questioning of the description “Beginner”), followed by a playful, though difficult, short final movement.
I really like this Sonata, and include the link to my recording here:
I think the main reason I chose to do the recording today rests with a novel I worked on regarding an August Bank Holiday back story. Ten years ago, I published my first novel, Secrets by Lawrence Estrey. The results were mixed, with a leading London Literary Agent describing the first 33,000 words as a page turner but later choosing not to represent me.
The story, a psychological thriller, starts with disjointed scenes that took place on a August Bank Holiday, which sees the protagonist as a boy of ten running from danger.
I’m not sure what to do with the novel after a decade, but still feel attached to the characters and Lancashire landscape in the North West of England. So I thought I’d share the opening of the novel. Happy reading and listening!
They say a group of teenagers saw me on the field that August Bank Holiday Monday. One called over, asked if I was all right. I didn’t answer, apparently. Just continued stumbling in the direction of home, sweat dripping from my face. The teenagers didn’t hang around. They assumed I had sunstroke. If I had seen myself, I would have probably thought the same.
Others noticed me wandering along the main road towards the estate where we lived. Drinkers in the pub watched me stagger like a drunk. I continued walking. Up the hill, through a ginnel, past the church. Down the hill, along alleyways of back-to-front houses, to the car park at the bottom of the estate.
Dad was out with your dad that afternoon. They say your mother saw me and came out. ‘Where’s Craig?’ she said. ‘What happened, Alan?’
They say I muttered two words.