WriteWorder Anecdotist won second prize in the competition I held recently on my blog, and her piece, Loving, Hating and Writer's Block, is just up. It's a great piece which I know will speak to lots of WWers:

http://emmadarwin.typepad.com/thisitchofwriting/2013/07/postiversary-competition-second-prize-winner-loving-hating-and-writers-block-by-anne-goodwin.html

It's a lovely piece of writing, but I have two stumbling blocks to fully understanding it.

One is that I have never (and I hope it stays like that) hated my novel. Creating it has been a labour of love, and I cannot at the moment see what could change that. So, how a writer can go into a mental state of hating his/her work is not apparent to me, especially when it's an overnight thing, as Annecdotist says.

I think sometimes I lead a simple life.

My second block is a silly one. I do not know the 'other' meaning of cold custard. Yes, I admit it. I thought it might be obvious, but after doing a quick search, nothing came to light. The only other association of 'cold' and food I can think of is cold-turkey. So, is this - cold custard - a recent phenomenon known by everyone in the UK, but not by me?
Now, I must point out I have fond memories of cold custard, especially when it was Ambrosia custard, which somehow tasted better cold than hot. I wish I had some now.
(Here, btw, no one eats it - you can't get it in any supermarket. When a friend brought over a tin of Birds, I celebrated).

Cold custard is a pet horror of mine, that's the thing. It's good to know that I'm not alone...

On hating your novel, good if you haven't. But I think most of us have a sense of it as a creature - and entity one has a relationship with. I don't often actually hate mine, but I definitely sometimes feel as if it's resisting me, or even fighting back.

Thanks for posting this Emma and Alan I'm really sorry you spent time trying to unravel the non-existent deeper meaning of cold custard. I can see why this could happen since the other two examples were universal hates whereas this was very much a personal one (it actually makes me retch and I was quite surprised to discover a fellow sufferer in Emma), which I hadn't really thought through when I wrote it, but it makes me think of (I'm not 100 percent sure if it was her someone else) Anne Enright said she knew a novel was finished when it made her sick.

Alan I'm really sorry you spent time trying to unravel the non-existent deeper meaning of cold custard.

It's really all right, and it refreshed my memory about cold turkey which I hadn't heard for decades. Also I like being intrigued.

ps. I just love cold custard with hot rhubarb. Food for the Gods.

I am ambivalent about cold custard, but I can't bear yellow, which is much weirder.

Great post, Anne. I like the introspective style of it, and the way you sift through possibilities.

Deb

I am ambivalent about cold custard, but I can't bear yellow, which is much weirder

The world of custard is not as simple as I thought.

Sorry to shock you out of your world view, Alan... I'm not a big fan of cold custard but it can be nice in a trifle, can't it?

it can be nice in a trifle, can't it?

Yes, deb, it certainly can. I used to make a mean sherry trifle. Even those averse to cold custard like Annecdotist and Emma would have lapped it up.

Sounds very tempting. Would you mind emailing some over for us?

I like to think I'm fairly adaptable but never in a million years could you get me to eat trifle, unless as a form of torture!

Would you mind emailing some over for us?

Sorry, about to attach a morsel, but I got distracted ... http://www.sherrytrifleburlesque.com/

Er, thanks, Alan...

The only way I can stomach trifle is if it's so alcoholic that I can stir the ghastly custard into everything else, and pretend I can't taste/feel/smell it.

And now I have Nigel Slater's "custard" from his Ten Minute trifle - mascarpone, vanilla sugar and egg yolk beaten together, and then the whipped whites folded in - I never need suffer the real thing again.

Trifle. Mmmmmm. Proper trifle with cold custard, raspberry jam and flaked almonds. Yum. And vanilla slices. You will probably only understand that if you are northern. Wish I hadn't been reminded of them; I could murder one now.

I want Sherry Trifle's entire wardrobe.