the hermit
And so the Strange and Rootless Summer goes on. I'm house-sitting for addedentry and j4 in Cambridge right now. They have no internet yet. On the one hand, this is a bit weird. On the other hand, it means I'm getting lots and lots of writing done, and watching their videos, and magpieing my way through their fantastic poetry collection, reading Four Quartets over and over again and playing the Oysterband loudly. And the 24 Hour Party People soundtrack. If I ever have the study/library/workshop I dream of, I think I'll call it the Factory.
Now I'm in a lovely little netcafe/bookshop called CB1 on Mill Road. It has a bookcrossing shelf. I've adopted Mary Dorcey's Biography of Desire (apparently it's the first ever Irish erotic novel. Hmm. No I said no I won't no) and had a chat with the folkie proprietor about bookcrossing. I wonder what I have in my rucksack that I can leave in return?
Saturday was ghoti's wedding, which was beautiful and full of hymns and ceilidh dancing. It was weird to be singing things like Here I Am Lord (a Fanore classic) again, and some of the hymns were downright apocalyptic ("Come back suddenly, Lord, and fill your temples!" At least I can take consolation in the fact that they've been singing that hymn since the 1700s and He hasn't come back suddenly yet), but it still felt sort of right. And it seems I really like ceilidh dancing. I'd better not tell my mum or she'll make me accompany her to sessions in school halls to dance with sweating elderly farmers with one hand*.
This past week... I have no proper words, so I'm just going to mumble indistinctly about exploring territories real and imaginary, and books and ideas I needed just falling into my lap, and being amazed at my own brain (it's not as egotistical as it sounds, really, it could apply to anyone's brain), crazy random conversations, speaking things long unspoken, and stuff, and things. And stuff. Er...
Anyway, never mind the specifics; the result is I'm in a writing frenzy. I wonder if it's possible to write 20,000 words in a week? I'll be back online properly at the weekend, I hope, maybe. I'm sorry to anyone who tried to contact me these last few days who didn't get a reply. A couple of weeks ago I was all gregarious and now I've turned back into a recluse. I am a flake.
*This has actually happened before
Now I'm in a lovely little netcafe/bookshop called CB1 on Mill Road. It has a bookcrossing shelf. I've adopted Mary Dorcey's Biography of Desire (apparently it's the first ever Irish erotic novel. Hmm. No I said no I won't no) and had a chat with the folkie proprietor about bookcrossing. I wonder what I have in my rucksack that I can leave in return?
Saturday was ghoti's wedding, which was beautiful and full of hymns and ceilidh dancing. It was weird to be singing things like Here I Am Lord (a Fanore classic) again, and some of the hymns were downright apocalyptic ("Come back suddenly, Lord, and fill your temples!" At least I can take consolation in the fact that they've been singing that hymn since the 1700s and He hasn't come back suddenly yet), but it still felt sort of right. And it seems I really like ceilidh dancing. I'd better not tell my mum or she'll make me accompany her to sessions in school halls to dance with sweating elderly farmers with one hand*.
This past week... I have no proper words, so I'm just going to mumble indistinctly about exploring territories real and imaginary, and books and ideas I needed just falling into my lap, and being amazed at my own brain (it's not as egotistical as it sounds, really, it could apply to anyone's brain), crazy random conversations, speaking things long unspoken, and stuff, and things. And stuff. Er...
Anyway, never mind the specifics; the result is I'm in a writing frenzy. I wonder if it's possible to write 20,000 words in a week? I'll be back online properly at the weekend, I hope, maybe. I'm sorry to anyone who tried to contact me these last few days who didn't get a reply. A couple of weeks ago I was all gregarious and now I've turned back into a recluse. I am a flake.
*This has actually happened before