This year has been a busy one, full of a lot of life changing events but not, alas, much in the way of writing.
This is not so helpful in the life of a writer, as it goes.
With all the planning I did for the year, I am pleased to report that I have moved into my new home with my wife-to-be. A feat in itself. This house, however, well, there’s a book in that at least.
For those unaware, I moved to the Netherlands from the UK in December 2017 and moved in with my parents-in-law whilst we found a place. However, being a new arrival, having no credit record or similar, even renting was insanely complex. Add in two large dogs which were coming too and suddenly… no.
So, we did the smart thing. We waited and we saved. All very sensible but tough. Don’t get me wrong, my in-laws? The stuff of legend. Not only did they welcome me into their home, but they let me make it my home too. Rare people. I am lucky. But, nearing my 40th birthday, I wasn’t ready to live with family for a long time again. It took its toll. On them and us.
Then, earlier this year, the time came. Time to get a mortgage and the hunt for our home began. Many were seen, all rejected. We widened the search a little. We were after “something”, but what? Turns out, this place. Not where we expected to be, a town we didn’t expect to be in.
But the house, wow. Such potential. And there’s that word. Potential. You see, our home was decorated like an Austrian ski lodge. All tiled floors, dark wood and faux-exposed brick walls. But potential, right?
Well, yes. Now, over seven months on from when we started, yes. Most weekends were sacrificed to this “project”. Many, many evenings too. It was exhausting, sanity-destroying and it nearly beat us a few times. That said, from the literal blood, sweat and tears we forged a home. Not just some house, but a place which I still find myself… surprised to live in. The fact this is my house and it was made to our design? A constant source of surprise. Even shock.
Of course, life didn’t stop whilst we did that. For the first time in fourteen years I am back working for someone and not self-employed. My partner has been through job changes too. We’ve had serious health issues within my family. We’ve been ill too. It’s all been a bit of a meat grinder.
But… not all bad. My best friend is expecting his first child with his partner. Health issues were resolved. New friends were found. Our wedding draws closer.
Oh and we have a home now.
So that’s nice.
But whilst all of this has gone on my writing has been somewhat sidelined and atrophied with the neglect.
Now I find the itch is becoming unbearable so I am stretching out my creative muscles, feeling them pull and resist against the unfamiliar exercise. The need to write and create is still strong, though. The ideas still keen; maybe even a little clearer than earlier in the year.
To ease back in, I am wandering through my short story ideas. There’s some interesting ideas and thoughts in there. Snippets and exerpts.
For example:
“The thing to remember about death, the really important thing, is that you only get to do it once. You have to get it right first time. There’s no rehearsal, no do overs.”
Or how about the comedy, sci-fi short which is kick about entitled:
“The Poultry Equation”
There’s a lot on here. I can feel the senses warming back up and the ideas beginning to flow.
A little sluggish, somewhat, I think, resentful of my prolonged neglected. But I can feel them there, dancing on the tips of my fingers.
What is, then, my point?
Well, I guess, I’m back.
If you missed me, thank you. If you didn’t, good.
2019 was a year for thrusting roots into the earth and settling my life a little.
2020? Well, there I get married (as it goes) and put the strongest taproot into bedrock for the future but, I think, also…
…it’s time to write. More to come.