Lapsed

‘I feel like a lapsed writer needing confession’ – this is what I wrote in my journal this morning.  This, and my longing for sun and warmth. But there are primroses and snowdrops in the garden and Phil has just ploughed all the vegetable garden up with Bluebird.

I also wrote a quote from Wordsworth that I found in an article, ‘fill your paper with the breathings of your heart’.   I like that.  Breathing – in and out, the way that listening to the breath in meditation slows everything down , gives it clarity, lets light in at the top of the head to course its way down the limbs.

Out of the long nights and dark days of winter there has come a slowing of things – some I would prefer to do without – my joints creaking and seizing up with the cold and damp but I like the long stretches when nothing is happening.  I put off going shopping and just stay home in my room slowly finding my way round things, writing a bit, reading a lot.

I made curtains for the window of my workroom and wish I had made the effort sooner whilst it was still dark till late in the morning.  Losing that black, shining cold square  is making the room feel warmer, the yellow of the thick curtain creating light in that outside wall.  Gradually more and more luxurious things happen in this room – the ancient radiateur that the plombier Denis put in for me is solid and comforting, the books are familiarly in their places, there are lists and photographs, paintings and ‘to do’s’ on the wall.

Now my head is trying to get itself around constructing a website.  I went to Philip Gross’s website a few days ago and really enjoyed it, reading more about him as a person – rounding him it seemed.  I want to look at a few more writer’s websites and then to have a go at making a decent one for myself.  I have done this in the past but the result has been uninspiring.  I have found a Website for Dummies site which is very clear and simple and that uses WordPress so it would not be unfamiliar.  Tomorrow I will do it!

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3 Comments

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3 responses to “Lapsed

  1. Happiness oozes through this post, and I am very glad to read it. I’m happy too, having had one of my poems of Wartime through the Eyes of a Child accepted, the first for quite a while. Also, the Red Shoes book in which I have 3 poems has been selected for an award for handmade books.

    Keep writine.

  2. Vicky

    I like the slow feeling of this post – and the reference to breathing … also to curtains – I still have the dark blank window and it’s time to make the room cosy and warm.

  3. And here too grateful for the snowdrops.
    First sunshine – everyone seeming to unclench – friendly on the streets and trains.
    Writing is academic at the moment – I’m trying to write something about those whose work is – as us – in the ‘immaterial’ – the arts, culture, affective professions. It’s good to have a deadline. I am getting better at just pushing the demons to the side of the table – why are you doing this? what’s the point? you don’t know enough; it’s too difficult for you, you’re just not up to this – and being ‘dogged’ about just doing the next bit and waiting to see how it coalesces – and THEN let the dogs out to raven on it. Just realised too many different kinds of dog and doggedness in that account.
    Congratulations to Viv re poem and book – love to see a photo of your made book!
    I go to London to meet a friend in Candid Cafe, top of City Road, just round from the Angel tube to discuss support for my charity. Up two flights of narrow servants’ stairs, to a long, low ceilinged room with odd tables and assorted roccoco gilt chairs and wicker ones, sofas with gilded frames. Candles in bottles (so retro, darling), art classes advertised on the walls. Run by out of work actors, all the customers are saying things like “it’s my mother reading me nursery rhymes – so how do I digitally record that” or “so this is how we’ll stage it – we need lots of branches” or ” and I was crying and my dad came in my room and said (inaudible) and I said, ‘Dad, you KNOW me SO well.’ Dramatic pause, eyes widened.” Young, struggling artists, talking too loud and ‘subtly’ looking round a bit to see who’s noticing.
    My meditation practice is make non-confrontational eye contact – the ticket inspector, the little actor-waitress who brings my American friend her mocha (Americanly pronounced to rhyme with poker) coffee. The eye-contact? See the person you are with, especially those who are often invisible to us. As I – now old – am increasingly invisible to the crowds burling through the tunnels of the underground. Hello, human. Me human too.
    Curtains sound grand – can’t wait to come and see it. How about in the next month?

    I look forward to your website also – and thanks too for the link. I have to make an improved website for my charity supporting a children’s arts centre in Bethlehem. Friends of Alrowwad UK. http://www.friendsofalrowwad.co.uk
    Excuse the pitch!

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