This blog is taking a new path. Tomorrow, in fact. It’s having an autumn-clean, a thorough sort out. New name, new theme − and all that will magically happen in its back room tomorrow. No spoilers − you’ll just have to wait and see how it looks.
I have two blogs. I think of one of them (not this one) as my office and calling card. I think of the other one (this one) as my writing blog. Some of the older posts will tell you how I wanted it to be about writing and being a writer. This is still the case. But I have a sense that it needs to be more vibrant, colourful, more responsive to the things I’m thinking about every day. I want it to hurry along a little and to have many more posts on it. Signposts as well as blogposts.
So I’m going to turn this blog into my writer’s workroom in the cloud. Up there in the glorious, connecting web that casts around above our human heads. A virtual and unlimited milky-way of head-space. A wide blue sky-shaped space for ideas to clash and clang about in. A bank of low grey-wool clouds that drop my thoughts through the dawn air to settle quietly like dew on the cold morning ground.
This workroom will have cupboards and drawers for storing different materials and tools. I want readers to feel curious about the cupboards, to want to open them and smell the paint and sharpened pencils, to not be able to resist sliding open a drawer and glancing inside.
There will be one cupboard which isn’t just about writing although its contents are what feeds my writing more often than not. In it there will be a ragged heap of stories and theories about why people do what they do. Why they take one path and not another. Why they often miss glaring signposts telling them to walk swiftly in the opposite direction to the one they are travelling in. I have spent a long time gathering up the multi-coloured and usually tangled threads of why this might be. One of the jobs I hope to do in this workroom is to tease these threads away from each other and wind them onto glistening bobbins; maybe I’ll even get some of them tidied away into drawers.
I work at home much of the time. I can spend far too long than is healthy sitting scrunched up in my real-world writing space (which is really a tiny, renamed porch) so recently I have started ‘walking to work’ each day, through the fields and along the tracks that surround me here in the Yorkshire Dales. It’s on these walks that I think about all the cupboards and drawers that I need for the masses of stuff in my head; all the ideas from the last few days of my walks across the fells, or from the last few years of my life, or from the last few life-identities I have had, and from the books, the films, the objects that have all got caught in my mind like flotsam between canal boats − but then I see they are not random like flotsam at all. I have filtered them. They have got stuck only because they lift the corner of a dark, dusty curtain in a back corridor of my mind, they each lift it an inch higher revealing the ankle of a shy or teasing truth that I have only glimpsed the edge of.
I must sleep, now, to garner my energy for the day of virtually moving in and decorating my writer’s workroom. I welcome you back, the day after tomorrow, to see how it turns out. It may be dishevelled and full of piles of things still to be put away, but I plan to have a kettle and a teapot on hand to make you a virtual cuppa if you fancy popping in again.