New life?

Tuesday, January 1st., Trinity Hall Farm, Hockliffe, Beds.

Taking stock at age thirty three. I am told that today, technically, starts the new century. And a hundred years from now will start the new millennium. So much for my short span!
 
Last year I wrote three plays, a serial of 70,000 words ("The Grand Babylon Hotel"), the draft of my Staffordshire novel ("Anna Tellwright") and part of the final writing, and half a dozen short stories. I also wrote and published 196 articles of various lengths. I collected, revised, and wrote a preface for a series of my articles from the Academy, to be called "Fame and Fiction". It is to be published later this year.

And I  edited Woman magaxine until 30th. September when I resigned and came to live here in the country with my father, mother, and sister Tertia. I also advised Pearsons on 50 MSS books.

From April to the third week in December I was working almost continually at very high pressure, and had no energy to spare for this journal. I am taking it up again today in hope to incorporate it once more into my routine. There is a definite saving of time in dispensing with regular journal entries, but I find it is a useful activity to focus on my achievements, and it is pleasurable now and then to glance back. Though sometimes it is difficult to recall the person behind the words.

Since I came here, on top of work, I have been very much preoccupied and fretted in the superintendence of the repairs to this house. I consistently tell myself that I will never again work so hard, but in future will find time to read poetry regularly, to gather materials for a work on the fiction of the nineteenth century, and - ? - to study Latin.

I made £620 last year; more than ever I made in any previous year. This year, unless something goes wrong with my play "The Chancellor", I hope to make much more.

Today we were out earlyish for a walk. Few people about; probably in bed sleeping off the effects of over-indulgence in New Year celebrations. It was grey and quite cold. A sort of fine mist in the air, enough to feel on the skin, but not enough to make one wet. Everywhere very still. I liked to stop now and then just to enjoy the stillness, as if an invisible blanket had been laid over the world attenuating sound. Amusing incident when we passed through a dispersed flock of sheep whilst walking along a minor road. For some reason they gathered together and began to follow, right on our heels. An odd sensation. Presumably we were mistaken for farmers bringing food. Back home I have been browsing in old journals and imagining a successful future. Happy New Year!