Big Break Diaries: The poet

BBC News Online's Big Break Diaries follow a group of people hunting for their big break in the arts and entertainment world.

This week, poet Jackie Wills, tries to keep up her writing while relaxing on holiday - and worries about what the winter has instore.

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Jackie Wills: Taking a well-earned rest

19 July

I was at Dapdune Wharf in Guildford to talk through ideas for arts projects in Surrey.

I'd love to see poems on benches, gates, steps, doors, the top of hills and viewpoints. There's some wonderful visual art commissioned for the countryside.

There should be poems too. I'm sceptical though. Massive pieces of sculpture look like they're worth the money spent on them. How do you value poems?

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25 July

School's out. (I used to love Alice Cooper. I saw him once in the lift of a Birmingham hotel. He was talking to a roadie about which video to hire.)

I'm off camping with the kids to a site outside Hastings. We arrive at about 1900.

They rush off to a rope swing, cover themselves in mud and make friends with a gang of other children. I only have one 20p for the shower. What made me bring white towels?

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28 July

It's hard to write. I daydream about living in a row of coastguards cottages near the beach. I've got itchy feet. Want a change. The kids shout me down. They love Brighton.

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30 July

It's still baking. A week with teenagers writing poems - trips backstage at the Theatre Royal and to a house where we sit on the servants' stairs and I read poems aloud.

I've had a poem accepted by a magazine; a review of my book, Party, has appeared in another. I'm cheered up.

But I'm worried about the winter. I have almost no work after October. There's a recession coming and freelancing's precarious. I need a job.

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3 August

No big summer holiday this year, just short breaks. I drive to north Wales to see a friend. We arrive at 0130 but wake up to a spectacular view down a valley to the sea outside Conwy.

The neighbouring town has more chapels than I've ever seen. All of them empty.

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8 August

I make it to sleep at 0230, after driving home. I have a workshop at Lever Faberge examining how poets exploit the senses. We read poems by Carolyn Forche, an American, Pauline Stainer and Michael Longley.

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9 August

A day to myself. I find a café where I can write without being distracted by mounds of washing - the machine's broken down.

I buy a book I've been looking for by Chase Twitchell, then it's the pound shop for cheap notebooks and pens. I'm armed.

No excuses now. I've got enough paper to write a novel.