Saturday, 17 December 2011
I chose today's photo because it is probably the most peaceful photo on my computer. This is Queens Park a couple of years ago about this time of year. However you may dislike the cold, it's hard to deny the tranquility which comes with snow. This is especially true if the roads are brought to a standstill, of course, but even without silent roads the stillness of a landscape frozen solid is a wonder to behold. It's worth donning jumpers, coats, boots, hats etc for a taste of that absolute calm.
If you don't fancy a walk in our snow-covered parks you can stay where you are beside the fire with your laptop on your lap and follow this link HERE. This will take you to an animation about how to meditate for one minute. The little video includes, at the centre, a one minute meditation. All you have to do is sit down in front of your computer, and the little pencil man will guide you through. He has a particularly gentle voice, so it's worth it just to remind yourself about how to speak gently and that gentle voices can actually be just as compelling as loud ones. Let's hear it for gentleness.
Of course sometimes gentleness is more difficult to acheive than at other times. And sometimes you can't stop even for that one minute, like for instance if you're Lenny, from Mavis's Shoe, while she is escaping through the streets of Clydebank and the bombs.
And of course there are wonderful things to be gained from longer meditations. I should know. I used to meditate for forty minutes every day of my life. But to be reminded to step out of your life for just one minute is like suddenly seeing doors, perhaps escape routes, which have been shrouded in invisibility cloaks. Close your eyes and they're there. Open them and the problem before you has either disappeared or at least faded.
Monday, 5 December 2011
This is the place I've been working, a designated cosy spot in half a room I've been sharing with a large bookshelf containing Charlie's, Fred's and Emma's library. (That's Dad, Grandad and Great-Aunt.) The top half of the room has a large platform, hand-made by a friend, which is the general dump for anything no-one has a use for any more. As you can see, this place has seen some life. Note the mess. Obviously something really important is going on here to warrant such scant concern for order. There's also a little note stuck on the lamp which says 'WRITER' just in case I forget what I'm doing, and two USB's inserted for belt and braces. There's a mouse, surprisingly not the hairy kind, and it's sitting on a woman's bottom, again not hairy and not mine, I hasten to add, because it's a picture on a mouse mat given to a friend who didn't see the joke. Oh dear. And that's a clothes line above the chair, for emergencies, and my favourite cup with some non-plussed Lewis Chessmen on the side, from the British Museum. (Should be in Scotland.)
This is where Mavis's Shoe was written. I'm not very proud of this. This really is a complete mess. It is a corner of my bedroom or rather a side of it and it's clear I wasn't taking this writing business very seriously. Except that the blue chair which dominates is actually a very special chair known as 'The Magic Chair' partly because I painted it a rather magic blue and partly because it has a sticker on the front which is about fifteen years old and says in big letters 'MAGIC'. But perhaps because it seems like an act of magic that Mavis's Shoe was ever written at all, especially in the midst of so many drying towels.
The bar at the top of this blog is from another place I work, a little corner in Ironbbratz studios in the middle of Glasgow. Strictly speaking it's a visual arts community but they let me in anyway because I was so keen. And I do find, when I get lost, that visual art and music often bring me home to writing. They do wonderful things up there in Ironbbratz and a walk round the other studios is always uplifting.
However, the time has come for a change, so for the past three days I have been swapping my bedroom for my workroom. Some would call this prevarication. I am after all at the very early and important stages of putting fingertips to keyboard at the start of a new novel about Lenny and her pals and it is in fact just like exams: anything is easier than getting on with the job in hand.
Isn't this amazing? This is the Charlie-Fred-Emma library spread out on the floor in the same order they sat on the shelves. The two rows at the bottom are mine. There are about twice as many books on other shelves in all the wrong places around the house which are mine and certain others'. I just love books and I know I'll never get to read half of the ones I haven't already read unless I start now and do nothing else until I stop breathing. (Which might be soon - they're very dusty.) The shelves are now where my bed used to be and the books back in place. There is a wood-burning stove on another wall and a large window looking out through the trees. The walls, as you can see round the Mavis's Shoe table, are the green of new leaves on a lime tree. But the weirdest thing is that my desk is now where that table used to be, just as I'm saying hello to Lenny again.
The last time I was in the studio I grabbed a pile of poetry books to bring home and be inspired by. They were sitting on the corner of my desk when the great workroom-bedroom swap began. This one was on top. Spring Cleaning, by Jean 'Binta' Breeze. The poem of the same title is one of my earliest favourite poems in which a Jamaican woman is sweeping out her house. This is a poem I have read out loud to myself many times. It is a greatly calming poem and is particularly apt today, for which I thank the poet. Here are a few lines:
all de dark spirits
departing wid de dus
sunrise in er eyes