We are moored up somewhere near the Loire in a little
village called Rogny Les Sept Ecluses, which derived its name from a flight of
seven locks commissioned by the much-loved French King Henri 1V in 1604. Yes, 1604,
just after Shakespeare died. It was an
astonishing feat of engineering and served the community from more than two
hundred years, when a new canal was built and re-routed around them. The locks have all been drained and are
filled with wildflowers and banked on either side by scorched earth, because it
has been baking hot here. In their empty
state it is easy to appreciate the intricate brickwork and the unbelievable
manual labour which went into building them.
Although they no longer have a function, they are a national monument and
beautiful and atmospheric to visit.
The reason I'm mentioning them is that the labour of
building them is a little bit like the literary equivalent of getting
published, and even though they don't have a function any more, they still
stand as a testament to ambition and vision.
So if you have an unpublished manuscript sitting in your drawer, I think
you shouldn't feel despondent about it -- it's your own empty flight of locks,
filled with aspiration and endeavour and maybe even a few wildflowers….
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