I Remember

I walk along in the early spring sunshine, and look down at my tattooed feet, free of tights for the first time since October, and I remember who I am.

I remember that I like who I am.

I sit in the hairdressers chair as she dries my hair, revealing the glorious purple shine, released from beneath the dull brown, and I remember who I am.

I remember that I love who I am.

I sit in a living room, drinking a cup of tea, whilst around me amazing people talk passionately about things we all I adore, and I remember who I am.

I remember that I am loved for who I am.

I remember, and I never want to forget again.

Anything is possible

The question I have been asking myself for a while now is should I acknowledge the monumental lack of blogging activity, or just start up again, as if by ignoring the gap it won’t have happened.

But I can’t treat it like the elephant in the room; it is just not in me to do that. Just how did I go from such sparklingly-awesome blogging, to the desolation and tumbleweeds which have been prevalent the last year? Seriously, if Bright Meadow had been a puppy, you’d have called the RSPCA on me long since. What happened to the blogger at the peak of her game?

Would that I knew.

Was it Twitter taking all my thoughts? A job I adore in my dream sector? Living in a new and stunningly beautiful city? Perhaps it was just that I grew older.

Or a combination of all of the above with other things I don’t want to acknowledge in the mix.

What next? I genuinely don’t know. It hurts to think that Bright Meadow has reached the end of the line, but at the same time I just don’t know what I would write about if I was to start blogging daily/weekly again. I had a moment a few months back when 9rules went through more change and, what with one thing and another I gave up the leaf. It was a hard decision to take. 9rules was this HUGE thing that happened to me back in the summer of 2006. You cannot underestimate the sense of pride I had when I first put up the leaf. So to let it go?

Even now it makes me blink a bit in shock. But I just wasn’t the same blogger any more and the leaf wasn’t where I was at.

Yes, a part of me, a large part, wants to kick Bright Meadow back into gear to see if I can earn that leaf back. Just to see if I can. Because I still have it in me somewhere.

But should I? What would I get out of blogging consistently once more? Surely my efforts are better spent at writing that blasted book and living my life.

Bright Meadow though… It’s something special to me. I want it to have a future. I just don’t know what the future is.

Yet.

Dark and Stormy

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It was a dark and stormy night and they were gathered around the central hearth.
“Tell us a story, lei-lei sa”.
“Then listen well, all of you, whilst I tell you a story true. A story about lord and men, thieves and ladies. This story has love and war and death and betrayal and redemption and honour. This story has it all; and this story is about my father…”

I think I might have found the voice of my narrator for the story. The annoying thing? I actually found the voice in a burst of inspiration whilst sitting in the Botanic Gardens back at the start of September, but I’d forgotten about it. Most of my writing gets done on the MiniMe or, in a scrape, on my phone and then transfered to the MiniMe. But every now and then I am tripped up by my addiction to notebooks. Sometimes I just can’t stomach tapping away on the computer; I need the feel of pen and paper, especially when I am making random jottings and notes. As I was doing that day in the Botanic Garden.

So a snippet gets scribbled down as it floats through my brain, without me really making a connection to anything else, then I put the notebook away and forget about it. Till three months later I am sitting bored at my computer, browse through some old photos on Flickr, see a shot of a notebook I’d taken, check what I’d written, and… pfft! the connection is made.

Not that my story really needs a narrator and nor am I sold on the efficacy of narrators (they can be a trite and over-used device) but it is nice to have, in my head, a framework of how this story came to be told. It isn’t just a random story of some people going on a journey – it fits into a wider context and becomes the history of a particular group of people. We hear the story because people in the future are telling it to their kids…

Whether or not this telling will be made explicit or not is another matter. I’ve got to get the first draft on the page before I get to think about wider stylistic points.

Just don’t ask me how close I am to getting the first draft onto the page, please…

Life at 27

This should be my post-birthday summation post. But it’s not, because I just don’t feel like it. I’ve done them before and I’ve nothing new to say really. I’m getting older, my life is getting better, I am seeing more and more clearly the path I want to take… All good, happy things.

There, birthday summation complete 😉

How was my writing week, more importantly. Not quite as good as I could have hoped for the first week off the blocks of my new regime, but everyone has to start somewhere. Total word count now stands at 1916. Which, when I only really wrote on one lunchtime and for half an hour on a train on Friday, isn’t too shabby! Already I am running into things that have to change, which is vindicating my ‘start-from-scratch’ as opposed to re-write policy. Changing the main protagonist has meant that all the other characters are reacting differently to him – he’s not so easily loveable as his predecessor, so even the book’s Mr Happy is finding it hard going to be welcoming. Poor Kriss – he just want’s to be loved, like a stray labrador puppy, and Ben isn’t having any of it!

Why is Ben so bloody grumpy? Quite possibly because I was in one HELL of a bad mood when I was writing that scene on Monday…

Other cute counting things from this week: Muffins? One. Flapjacks? None. Bus rides? 5, and I was only in work four days. Not so good! Amount of birthday cake eaten and birthday cocktails drunk? I refuse to answer on the grounds that it is plain embarrassing. People kept making and buying me cake and drinks! It would have been rude to refuse!

Here’s hoping next week sees a return to 1) more writing and 2) more healthy. Only nine months, give or take, to the Big Wedding, and I need to look HOT in my Not-Bridesmaid-Dress.

Holding Pattern

cascartoon Please watch the tumbleweeds for a few days more, dear readers. I’m digging my way out from beneath a contracts, and filing, and catalogue designing pile of hell right now. I think I can see my way clear… Blogging will resume very, very shortly!

Chess

Chess 2.jpg Chess. I don’t think I have ever told you all about my love-affair with chess, have I? Forgive me if I have – six odd years of blogging; it’s inevitable that I repeat myself occasionally.

Anyway, Chess. I am not sure when I first played a game of chess, but I do have very vivid memories of playing my granddad when I was young and he said to me “keep playing, you’ve got a lot of promise”. That one little line has stuck with me for more than twenty years and is, quite possibly, one of my most cherished memories of him. If nothing else, it took a vague interest in the game and made it something personal.

We had chess lessons at school as well (yes, Hogwarts, I know!) and whilst I can’t remember if it was a regular thing, or just a one off, I do remember that I was one of the only members of my class who 1) enjoyed it and 2) ever won a game. I’m sure the teacher tried to show us things like strategy and the like, but none of that consciously sticks with me. What is ingrained in me is a knowledge of where the pieces should go on a board, the ability to see how a knight can move without having to count out the “L” shape, and an abiding sense that this is my game.

And a love of chess sets.

At last count I have eight or nine different sets of varying sizes and antiquity, not including the two sets I made for myself. Something about the black/white alternating squares on an 8×8 grid. The myriad of shapes and characters that the standard pieces can be carved into. The smell of an old polished wood set. The little indentations and knocks that show it has been loved. I just impulse bought set number Nine, the Oxford Set. I tried to play mum on my little travel set which is all I’d brought to Oxford, but it was just too cramped. Yes, I could wait till I got my main set back from Glastonbury (an inlaid agate board with carved Indian agate pieces I got for my 21st birthday) but… Where’s the fun in that? New house, new chess set. It is a basic 12″ wooden folding set, with the pieces stored underneath the board, but already I treasure it. I think the sheer ugliness of the knights is what drew me to it. The poor things look like they’ve been carved by a blind Trobriand Islander who was going by a description of a horse his great grandmothers third cousin had heard from his uncle’s brother’s wife’s father.

As I said, I love the variety sets come in.

I think this love of the set – the whole ritual around a game of chess, settling down across from someone, a drink to hand, for an hour or so of concentration and joking – might have something to do with how I never got into computer chess. I should point out, I don’t claim to be a chess grand wizard or anything. My game is far too reactive and impulse driven. Playing my mother I can win two games out of five (more if I can get her drunk). Playing my brother I win four out of five – one of the few things I can reliably trounce him in actually! Playing a computer just isn’t the same, not to mention demoralising when you loose time after time.

But no one these days seems to play chess. And that is a problem, because I’m lucky if I get in two games a year, and I need the practice.

So… Anyone out there up for a game of correspondence chess?

Goodbye Palace Meadows

It’s been eight months as opposed to the three initially planned, but the time has come to leave Palace Meadows for pastures new – The Meadow-Yet-To-Be-Named. I am going to miss my bijou little room in central Oxford. It has been so ridiculously conveniently located for everything, I’ve never been more than a ten minute walk from a destination. Plus it has been a haven for me whilst I was settling into this strange and wonderful new city.

Still, a girl has needs and those needs are primarily:
1) more bookshelf space
2) more wardrobe space
3) somewhere to sit other than her bed
4) rent that leaves enough left over each month to actually afford to eat
and 5) fewer mice making their home under her desk.

Plus it’s just time for a change – as ever, the lure of new people and new places to explore is pushing me onwards. OK, so that ‘onwards’ is just the other side of Oxford (a bare thirty minute walk from my current front door), but it is still an adventure. Plus the new house has a cat, so I should at least be safe from any mice that have stowed away in my packing boxes!

Talking of packing boxes, long experience has taught me that you always need twice the number of boxes you thought you did. I’d thought I’d taken this into consideration… Turns out my stuff has been breeding behind my back (and that I am better at utlising space than I’d thought). I keep finding yet more STUFF in this room! Hands up who wants to help Cas move tomorrow?!

The next time I blog it will be from the new house. Eek!

(And hangers? Hangers are the worst things to pack. They take up so much space, weigh more than you’d think, and form an impenetrable bundle of plastic and wire when you try and unpack at the other end. There has to be a better solution…)