Forgive me, those who read my last post. I realise with hindsight it is a post that should have always been private, dealing as it did with basic, primal grief. It now is.
The sun has broken through, a little. I wander my home town and remember why it is mine. I feel it, almost in a primal way. The grubbiness, the oddness, the acceptance of difference (to a degree, just don’t talk football teams – then it gets tribal) – it makes me feel better.
Even the work, the WTF moment as a grant assessor when you realise someone is asking you for 6 guns. Er, really?! This is England!!! This is a highly publicised charitable trust – NO NO NO!
On April 7th I am privileged to be doing a reading of my short story The Bone Queen at Newcastle’s Lit & Phil. This is an anthology / short story comp launch combined. The Lit & Phil is an amazing place and when I first visited as a gauche library student so many years ago I could never have envisaged standing up there reading my own work.
Then I booked a week’s retreat on an Arvon residential at Moniack Mhor. This is something I have longed to do but neither had the money or the justification to give myself this time out of life. In the UK Arvon are the gold stars of writing retreats, with amazing tutors and hideaways. To go seclude myself for 7 days in Scotland really is a dream. No internet, no phone reception – wow! I would have chickened, had the boy not got me when I was drunk and said simply – ‘Just do it!’.
So glad I did. Creatively, its such a kick in the pants to start writing again.
Even more so, as I was wandering about the Grainger Market (my spiritual home) today, I felt happy. I felt like me. I realised at work my colleagues were being lovely, because they want me to be happy again. And I have been.
I wobble, sure. I can’t face the purple bag in my study, on the corner of my desk. But I have many people still here to love and to care for. And I’ve realised, they so love and care for me too (well, I knew that before but sometimes it does bear repeating).
So I’m smiling. It is sad, but it’s a start. Like light through clouds.