It’s all gone very pretty and pink here in the past week or so. A previous tenant must have really loved the warm side of the colour wheel because the little garden by the studio door is an explosion of shocking pink and 1970’s scarlet, with red stemmed peonies about to add to the riot. Above it all and right next to the bedroom window is a delicate snowy cherry, buzzing with life and smelling like heaven – when it’s warm enough to spend any time beneath it. The once gravelled path is about to burst into blue though, all the bluebells must have made a slow crawl to safety over the years, abandoning the lawn and the danger of being mown down.
Thinking about, and looking at, the garden with all its inevitable daily change, is so much easier than anything else at the moment. I seem to be in a very peculiar place, perched on the edge of of something all the time. A lot of time alone means a lot of unproductive ruminating and a noisy inner monologue that ought to be trapped on a page, like a bee in a glass, so that it can be set free.
I turned 57 this week which was odd and I also had a strange experience at work when 3 boxes of my book arrived with the deliveries! I almost hugged Kevin the Parcelforce Man, it felt as though the occasion ought to be marked in some way other than selling the next customer a postcard of Dove Cottage and a copy of the new David Nicholls book. A reality shift. Who is this 57 year old person who has written a book and even been on telly? It can’t be me, and if it is, why do I feel more like this person…?
I spent my birthday sitting in the garden reading that David Nicholls book “You Are Here” and resisting all the gremlins telling me I was lazy for not working – it was a lovely birthday. What is work if you’re a self employed artist and part time bookseller? Surely part of that is reading and contemplating and it’s just unfortunate that those bits of the job aren’t paid. The book was perfect for me, two people, no longer “young”, who have drifted into solitude and social awkwardness, thrown together on a long distance walk. The Coast to Coast walk it describes, passes through some of the most significant places in my own life and even seeing their names on the page made me feel invested in the story. I met the author in the shop a few weeks ago when he was walking up some fells, in the unending rain, for this article about solitary walking.
Anyway, my little books are a month early which is often the way with publishing – they can arrive in warehouses and even be sold in shops unless they’re embargoed for marketing purposes (if you’re super famous and people are fighting for the next instalment of your series of novels, so that no spoilers can be revealed). The official publishing date was originally this week but it was pushed back until May 30th. Yesterday I spent all day listening to audio books (The Shell Seekers, Mrs Dalloway and the end of Close to Death), wrapping and packing website pre-orders, as well as those from the bookshop, demolishing my slim profit margin by including small prints, turquoise tissue paper and other extras including hand stamping and signing each one. I loved having something methodical to do that felt productive. Now I must wait and hope that any feedback is mostly positive and resist peering into the pit of seeking out reviews online.
I should probably mark the occasion in some way, other than getting giddy with the postman, because it feels like a significant achievement and milestone, more so than turning 57 which has happened mainly by accident. After I’d packed the parcels I felt a bit sad, a bit anti-climactic with a lot of wondering what next? Apart from my 18th birthday at Blakey Rigg (when the DJ we’d hired forgot my name and called me Dennis Taylor instead- the utter joy of being a teenager with glasses in the 80’s ) I’ve not really done much “Occasion Marking” so I’m thinking of ways to make sure I don’t spend publication day alone – possibly by using the voucher my daughter made for a my birthday, “Bun-dles of fun, a Bun-stoppable tour of London’s best a Cinnamon Buns”. How do you celebrate small significant achievements and most importantly, where did you get your most delicious cinnamon/cardamon bun?
Time to put the kettle on. I may take my tea outside and look in the pond to check on my solitary tadpole ,who has greater things to worry about than sugar and spice and the delicate ego of creative folk. I will also say hello to the swallows who arrived yesterday and made my heart leap like a surprise visit from an old friend.
Reading:-
Katie Hale, The Edge of Solitude (pub. July 2024) and Celia Paul, Letters to Gwen John.
WITCHMOUNTAIN 