Happy New Year! Today is 1-1-11! And it’s the start of a new decade! I hope 2011 brings good things for one and all.
Yesterday we walked around the park at dusk. A fog was settling in and there was still snow on the ground. It was beautiful and eerie. I could hear the sound of the trains in the distance. The wind must have been blowing in the right direction as the park is not that close to the trainline. There is something very comforting about that sound. It reminds me of being small and staying at my grandparents flat. As I lay in bed at night I would listen to the trains going by. The clickety-clack of wheels on the rails would lull me to sleep.
A television programme about model train sets the night before had prompted discussion in our household about trains in general and how they are the inspiration for a lot of art and writing. Then I came across this article in The Guardian linking train stations and poets, arguing for “what should be a campaign to bring rhyme to the rails.” For me there’s already poetry right there in that clickety-clack rhythm.
It appears this has somehow escaped my attention! Am I the last person to hear that the 6th and final book in Jean M Auel’s Earth’s Children series is coming out March 2011?!!! That’s 10 years since the fifth book was published! I haven’t been this excited about the release of a new novel for a very long time! Roll on March!
So, a friend lends you a book. You read the book and you absolutely love it. You have to give it back to your friend but you decide you will buy your own copy because it is such an amazing book. But the brand new copy of the book that you buy is just not the same as the copy that you read.
A book takes on something when you read it. It’s not just the crack that develops along the spine, or a grubby fingermark or two on some of the pages - it’s more than that. It’s something to do with the words inside having now been read. It’s like those words have been set free. The reader takes on something from the book and the book gains something from the reader. I don’t think I can describe it any better than that.
Am I the only one who thinks this?
I read this great article on The Guardian website today which really struck a chord with me. 6 writers talk about how a daily walk can keep you not only healthly, but also sane. Taking a walk feeds the creative process.
The poet, Andrew Motion says:
When I am by myself, the rhythm of walking, and rhythm of writing and poetry are very easily combined. Wordsworth wrote most of his stuff when he was walking – or bumming as he called it. I certainly feel that way. The movement of the body releases a poem and then confirms its rhythmic identity. The sheer volume of things that you happen to notice – the birds you coincide with, the light, the accidental mess of things. Walking gives you ideas, unblocks blockages, sets up rhythms in your head.
I actually have the perfect case in point for this! I have been working for a while now on a piece about my walk to work (look out for a post on this - coming soon!) My walk to work is only 6 minutes long but it gives me just enough time to take a few minutes to myself between the rush to get out of the door each morning and the onslaught of the working day. It’s amazing what you can observe in 6 minutes!
Writing is Freedom
I have been thinking over the past few days about what a freedom writing gives you. You can create literally anything with words. You can go anywhere, you can be anyone. You can chose whether to move within the realms of reality or you can get lost in fantasy and nonsense. You can escape the constraints of your daily life. The only limits are that of your own imagination. And what I really love is that no one can take that away from you - as long as you have a pen and paper you can create whole new worlds, wherever you are. What a comfort that is.
I know this is not by any means a new revelation, but sometimes you sit and ponder on something and you rediscover it. So, I guess what I am saying is, wow, writing - it’s pretty cool!
(img ‘reach for the sky’ via explodingdog)
If someone takes a spill, it’s me and not you
Who told you you’re allowed to rain on my parade…
|—||‘Don’t Rain On My Parade’ from Funny Girl|