Where We Are Now
Driving through the valley this afternoon: ‘Who made God?’ the six year old asks. ‘Well, no one darling. God just is.’ ‘Is what? Do you really believe all these Jesus stories?’ Theology for beginners ensues. Walking through the village to the watermeadows with the kids and the hound this glorious sunfilled autumn afternoon, you really can believe that He or She or the Universe is in everything, depending on your faith. This is the walk:
Mellow mists this morning have given way to the most beautiful day – the long grass on our walk has been baled in shiny PVC cylindrical bales. Things change – I remember when they used to harvest the orchard grass growing up, Dad would build us a house of straw bales each year (I’ll huff and I’ll puff …). I dream now of having an orchard like that – space for horses, chickens and the children to feel like they are running wild. I miss having a garden I love (our temporary home is full of trampoline, swings, a series 3 Land Rover by the shed, and the unlovely flowerbeds are empty). The only survivor of all the plants I have lost in the moves (jasmine, honeysuckle, frangipani, bougainvillea, acers, old scented roses and herbs – all gone), is my little olive tree. It has tenaciously endured the move from Spain, frozen northern winters, and being kept in a terracotta pot. I take it as a good sign. It’s my little piece of the future (doves, Noah, rainbows). When our little ‘ark’ comes to rest I’ll plant it, and maybe one day when it is liberated, tall and strong, I’ll be eating olives from it on a golden evening like this.
So that's where we are now, but a lot of the day I've been thinking about being here:
Mellow mists this morning have given way to the most beautiful day – the long grass on our walk has been baled in shiny PVC cylindrical bales. Things change – I remember when they used to harvest the orchard grass growing up, Dad would build us a house of straw bales each year (I’ll huff and I’ll puff …). I dream now of having an orchard like that – space for horses, chickens and the children to feel like they are running wild. I miss having a garden I love (our temporary home is full of trampoline, swings, a series 3 Land Rover by the shed, and the unlovely flowerbeds are empty). The only survivor of all the plants I have lost in the moves (jasmine, honeysuckle, frangipani, bougainvillea, acers, old scented roses and herbs – all gone), is my little olive tree. It has tenaciously endured the move from Spain, frozen northern winters, and being kept in a terracotta pot. I take it as a good sign. It’s my little piece of the future (doves, Noah, rainbows). When our little ‘ark’ comes to rest I’ll plant it, and maybe one day when it is liberated, tall and strong, I’ll be eating olives from it on a golden evening like this.
So that's where we are now, but a lot of the day I've been thinking about being here:
You're walking through Hampshire, but you're thinking about Santa Monica - when you were there ten years ago, and when Chet Baker was there in the 1960s. So where are you really - where you are physically or where you are mentally? I’ve had his CDs on repeat the last few days. ‘He was bad, he was trouble, he was beautiful’, said one of the many women whose hearts he broke. His fallen angel voice is perfect for these wistful early autumn days, and informed the rhythm of the first book, along with Miles Davis (it's amazing the CDs haven't burnt out). ‘Let’s Get Lost’ was filmed partly at the Shangri La in Santa Monica. It was one of the best places I’ve ever stayed – the room was on the ground floor, looking out to the ocean. It’s Art Deco beauty had faded – shabby pastel suite, threadbare carpets, but you could easily imagine a wanabee starlet staying there in the 1950s, hoping for bright lights and fortune. From the film, it had changed little by the time we stayed there. Now it’s had millions of dollars thrown at it and the rooms look just like any other chichi hotel.
Perception intrigues me – I love the idea that my memory of the Shangri La and that of someone staying in the next door room at the same time differ. I love the idea of being once place physically and another mentally - (is that time travel?). I love that the people and places in the books I conceived are not what the reader will imagine – ‘tall dark and handsome’ mean different things to different people. Have you heard of Barthes’ ideas about the ‘Death of the Author’? In the 60s he argued that that author and the text have no relation – you can’t come to a book with a bunch of preconceptions based on the biography and experience of the author. Each text stands alone. Your experience, tastes, particular view of the world colour your reading of any fiction (which is why there is such a sense of disconnection when a favourite book is made into a film. An image is so definite – it is one person’s view of the text, when there were thousands of different ways of seeing it). I find that idea intriguing – that the books stand alone. I can’t wait to set them loose, and move on. It is the great seduction with writing: creating something, a whole new world, letting it go and seeing where it travels.
The 100th blog entry has come around really quickly – thousands of hits and 45 countries later I can’t express my thanks to all of you who have hung around and contributed your wonderful, insightful comments. After over a year of waiting for the manuscript to be sent out, the immediacy of blog publishing has been a revelation - that some of you have been kind enough to read and comment has been amazing. The 100,000 odd words written since the summer could have been a novel – proof that turning up at the page each day adds up. It feels rather like we’ve harvested something – random thoughts about writing have been gathered up and formed the basis of something for the future. I’ve been having so much fun with this, I’ve decided to limit myself to two or three posts a week from now on – there’s the pressing business of the next book to get down to now the nights are drawing in and Chet's on the stereo. Tuesdays and Thursdays there will be new posts – and hopefully a weekend drop in, but I’ll be checking in daily and reading your blogs – thank you all for sharing your work and thoughts. I don’t know about you, but I kind of like where we are now.
TODAY’S PROMPT: Harvesting fruit, hay, ideas, images – why not get out in the world today and see what you can gather up with your kids. Why not make a beautiful nature/writers table or collage with them – golden leaves, painted twigs, postcards, photos, fragments of poems, paintings. See what you have to hand that can make you feel bountiful, gather it in, feel grounded.
Perception intrigues me – I love the idea that my memory of the Shangri La and that of someone staying in the next door room at the same time differ. I love the idea of being once place physically and another mentally - (is that time travel?). I love that the people and places in the books I conceived are not what the reader will imagine – ‘tall dark and handsome’ mean different things to different people. Have you heard of Barthes’ ideas about the ‘Death of the Author’? In the 60s he argued that that author and the text have no relation – you can’t come to a book with a bunch of preconceptions based on the biography and experience of the author. Each text stands alone. Your experience, tastes, particular view of the world colour your reading of any fiction (which is why there is such a sense of disconnection when a favourite book is made into a film. An image is so definite – it is one person’s view of the text, when there were thousands of different ways of seeing it). I find that idea intriguing – that the books stand alone. I can’t wait to set them loose, and move on. It is the great seduction with writing: creating something, a whole new world, letting it go and seeing where it travels.
The 100th blog entry has come around really quickly – thousands of hits and 45 countries later I can’t express my thanks to all of you who have hung around and contributed your wonderful, insightful comments. After over a year of waiting for the manuscript to be sent out, the immediacy of blog publishing has been a revelation - that some of you have been kind enough to read and comment has been amazing. The 100,000 odd words written since the summer could have been a novel – proof that turning up at the page each day adds up. It feels rather like we’ve harvested something – random thoughts about writing have been gathered up and formed the basis of something for the future. I’ve been having so much fun with this, I’ve decided to limit myself to two or three posts a week from now on – there’s the pressing business of the next book to get down to now the nights are drawing in and Chet's on the stereo. Tuesdays and Thursdays there will be new posts – and hopefully a weekend drop in, but I’ll be checking in daily and reading your blogs – thank you all for sharing your work and thoughts. I don’t know about you, but I kind of like where we are now.
TODAY’S PROMPT: Harvesting fruit, hay, ideas, images – why not get out in the world today and see what you can gather up with your kids. Why not make a beautiful nature/writers table or collage with them – golden leaves, painted twigs, postcards, photos, fragments of poems, paintings. See what you have to hand that can make you feel bountiful, gather it in, feel grounded.
