Day 252 of #ayearofwriting and how powerful are old folk tales? How much do they stay with us and take on new forms? Folk traditions and even christian traditions have a dark side, formed of the knife and the gallows, of the bog and the sacrifice, of the dark months of the year where survival meant death to some.
Day 254 of #ayearofwriting. Sometimes abandoning an idea gives rise to a new landscape, a new world of the story.
Day 255 of #ayearofwriting and I am ten days away from having written every day for a year. Back in 2017, I committed to #100daysofwriting. That means when I hit Day 265 I have been writing non-stop for 365 days. It’s been a hard month, in terms of personal loss; my Dad died with no warning, no illness. Where to go from here…
Day 256 of #ayearofwriting and after stripping wallpaper in the bedroom, a place I often write in, I notice these fifteen holes on the chimney stack. I wonder what they are, why they are there. The holes are not deep and are too far up the wall for hanging something. The holes are not deep but what if they were? This is how ideas begin, join in if you wish.
Day 257 of #ayearofwriting and holes in the bedroom wall leads me to look at strange holes around the globe. No wonder our ancestors thought these were gateways to the underworld. In SF there is a misleading trope that we look to the starts but the New Wave movement and Ballard turned it in on ourselves but what if we turned it down to the very earth itself? We know so little about it for all our blister and dominance. There are stranger things in heaven and earth…
Day 258 of #ayearofwriting and it has been a day of scribbles and now I am laid in bed watching Indiana Jones and wondering about the link between myth, fact and fiction. Listen for the feet of mad men and follow in silence.
Day 259 of #ayearofwriting I am retiring to the library.
Day 260 of #ayearofwriting and tonight the work is all about hidden secrets.