Yesterday morning was one of the worst mornings I have had since this miserable situation began in March of this year.
I awoke with tears in my eyes, tears I could not stop for almost an hour.
There was no particular reason; I wasn’t thinking or feeling anything particular. My brain doesn’t switch on until well after my second cup of tea, so it was probably an intense concentration of pain and dejection, something I have failed to keep under control lately.
There was also the newfound realisation that this might be all there is for the foreseeable future, however long that might be.
For the first time in my life, there was no conviction that everything would be all right in the end.
Once the tears and accompanying despair had faded, I knew I should get to work on our latest project, the new book, but I couldn’t do it. It seemed futile with my present mindset.
For some reason, I remembered something I have been reading about lately, that whenever you get stuck or your muse takes a walk, you should down tools and do something completely different instead.
Something else?
Almost immediately, I knew what I wanted to do. My precious bonsai collection has suffered serious neglect this year, as I haven’t been able to walk outside to care for them. This has caused me almost as much pain as the inflamed nerve in my spine.
Friends and family have rallied around and have been watering them, so they haven’t died, but every time I look at them through my window, I feel so sad and helpless. Guilty too.
Surely, I could have staggered out there and done something?
At this time of year, my small trees are getting ready to go to sleep for the winter and are busy losing their leaves. This is when I usually check they are in a fit state to sleep; for if I don’t, some of them won’t wake up in the Spring. They must be free of weeds, have sufficient soil, and have proper drainage. This is also the time I can really see the structure of the branches, which usually leads to some artful pruning.
I don’t consider myself a bonsai expert; I am still learning the ropes, but my lack of attention doesn’t seem to have done them much harm, apart from a lot of wildness in the growth department.
I only intended to see if I could manage to check one or two. I sat on a stool and set to work on the first one. Two hours later, I had checked eleven of them. Totally absorbed in what I was doing, I hadn’t thought or worried about anything and was in a state of bliss. I was totally relaxed, even the constant pain had slid down several notches. I came back inside, almost glowing after a brilliant job well done. At least I thought so!
So, maybe there is some truth about changing horses once in a while. Now all I can think about is what I can do next? (apart from promoting the new book!)
Speaking of which…
The Lost Lullaby, our new project…
Desperate to rekindle her love of writing, Maggie rents an old house in Cornwall. She expects dust and cobwebs, but not a silence that listens. From the moment she crosses the threshold, the rooms seem to lean closer, the walls brimming with a presence that knows her name before she can speak it aloud.
What begins as unease deepens into an obsession.
A cradle waits in the attic, carved with letters that seem to twist when she looks too long. A lullaby drifts through the dark, tender and terrible, coaxing her to surrender the last fragments of herself.
As the house closes in, Maggie is forced to fight not for escape alone, but for her very identity. To survive, she must hold on to the one thing the house cannot claim…
Atmospheric and relentless, The Lost Lullaby is a slow-burning ghost story about memory, hunger, and the fragile line between haunting and possession.
(a launch post is in the pipeline!)
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