Treasure haul

Dear friends, firstly – apologies for the absence. I'm sure you managed just fine without me but nevertheless, I did feel guilty about taking some time away from the blog. It seems I'm not the only one who felt the pull of winter's sparkling dark magic this year, and with it, the need to turn inward.

It seemed the right thing to do – to take some time to drift through the dreaming darkness, working on refilling the well of creativity. To cast an enchanted fishing net into books, magazines, films, music and nature, and see what treasure might turn in it. It felt important to take time to gather ingredients for ideas... for stories, paintings, drawings, projects.

Just in the past week or so, I've been seeing the emergence of those bold trailblazers – the snowdrops and crocuses, sending out the welcome signal that change is in the offing.

And so, as we all begin returning to the light, it's time to take a look at the haul of winter's gifts in your net...

Pearl

The smell of colour

It was the first time I had shared a piece of writing with my bi-weekly writing group.

Even though the other members always offer fair and constructive criticism, I had to work to keep my voice strong from behind my laptop screen.

I read out a piece I wrote for this blog last year, about working backstage at the theatre. And the others said some great things. For example, that they felt they were really there. That the nature of the piece was cinematic. A couple of people picked up on some turn of phrases I'd used that they liked.

But one thing I'd forgotten to add in was a description of smell. It's true that I usually think very visually. And sound is always a big part of working at an opera house, obviously. But smell... I tend to forget about that one.

The next night while I was at work, I kept checking in to see what things smelt like.

Hot dust around the stage lanterns. The waxy, floral perfume of make-up. The thick and cloying, boiled-sugar smell of stage blood. Hair spray and deodorant in the dressing rooms. Freshly laundered costumes. Instant coffee in the kitchen. The slightly mouldering scent of an old parasol prop.

It was a fun experiment, which led me to wonder if smell is something that can be ascribed to colour.

I love the smell of my paints – they have rich, slightly chalky, oily scents. But does cadmium red smell slightly spicy? Does Prussian blue bring to mind the earthy, water-lily smells of a moonlit lake? Does chrome yellow smell like a zesty, sun-bleached afternoon? Magenta, like a massive bowl of curling rose petals?

Probably not, but in my mind they do, and it's been interesting to take note of how much a smell can influence a mood. Maybe one day, they really will make scented paints.

Pearl

Rowing a bath

Ugh.

So yesterday was a clear day I had set aside for writing – I woke up with acres of uninterrupted hours ahead of me. What a luxury. I'm working on a writing project that I've only spent eight years on so far, but to be fair to myself – it has passed through quite a number of transformations in that time as I work on honing this craft.

And yesterday, I set myself a target of completing 2,000 words, because that's the target that Stephen King hits every day. I can't find the exact quote just now, but in his book On Writing, he talks about how it's important to write a book quickly – 'because writing a book is like trying to row a bath across the sea' – or something like that, and this idea has really stuck with me because it feels very true. You don't want to start sinking.

Not long ago I was sticking to a schedule of writing 2,000 a words a day myself – I was burning through the word quota within a couple of hours. But yesterday – blimey. It took me ten hours – ten hours, I tell you – to manage 1,327.

And so I thought, what do you do when you feel discouraged?

Well. You get up the next day and you start again. 

Pearl