Bev Carr

On Friday, my son came home from school wearing a shiny gold medal. This made me smile. It wasn’t until I carefully examined the medal that I actually realised its significance. In truth, it was when I turned over the medal and read the inscription on the back, ‘Bardd Y Gadair’. For those non-Welsh speakers who are reading this, that’s ‘Chair of the Bard’, the overall Eisteddfod winner of the school.

The answer to this question is bound to have as many variations as flavours of ice-cream that exist, but from talking to many writers, it seems that people do tend to have one favourite place. The place where you write is so important and can make such a difference to your writing.

Perhaps some of you will have noticed my decline in twitter feeds, my #amwriting tweets disappearing almost completely, my blogs more sporadic, and my amount of time spent on writing in decline. If you have, then you would be correct, as there is a very good reason for this. It seems that my time has been needed elsewhere.

Last night when I took my son to bed, I dusted off my old copy of Enid Blyton’s Famous Five, Treasure Island, and settled down nestled into the duvet with dimmed lights and a torch. As we peered inside, despite the fact that it has been more than twenty years since it saw the light of day, it felt familiar, and very, very comfortable. It was just like a reunion, when meeting up with an old friend, where the phenomenon of time is forgotten and melts away into insignificance.

Pondering over the same question I have pondered over so many times before, I stumble across a plan, only, it may be a very bad plan, or, it could be a very good one. For this reason, I’m blogging, and asking for some advice.

‘The’ words that have been written on the letter of enquiry, lay buried beneath the same tall rectangular sheets, the white mountains of hopes that clutter agent’s desks. It can sometimes feel that my words are failing to be heard, and they remain hushed.

Time is constant. It never falters or stops, it ticks along at a predictable speed, doesn’t waiver or wait for anything or anyone although sometimes, it strangely manages to defy it’s own laws and it runs away. Time may choose to hide, but I have found that if you search hard enough, then you will find it.

Sunday, 6 November 2011

The rays of light that fall between the branches of the trees cast unique shapes and forms onto the trodden footpath in the woods, granting each patch of earth a spotlight and its very own moment of glory.

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Bev Carr

A favourite story of mine as a child was C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. There was something so remarkably magical about walking through the back of a wardrobe and entering an extraordinary new world. Perhaps you’ll remember watching a children’s programme, many years ago called Mr. Ben, a character who walks through a changing room door, and each time, depending of course on which costume he wore, the door would take him to a whole new world. Well today, the thought occurred to me, that I have found my very own wardrobe back, my very own changing room door.

Today, whilst walking the dog in the woods, I took a moment to stop, and look around and marvel. The morning was largely grey, but the sun refused to allow the grey to take all the glory. Even from deep within the woods, a patch of blue sky was visible, and through that patch came a ray of light, that cast a spotlight through the branches of the trees, until it fell upon the earth. I have seen this so many times before, but today, I was able to appreciate it even more.