I wrote this in a twilight zone of sorts. Waiting for things to happen - like A Fear Of Heights to finally see the light of day on 8th June, like the associated track to come out on the same day, like urgent actions by third parties at work to be taken as urgently as I want them to be so I can actually move forwards. And family life doesn’t become any less convoluted or stressful either.
And all the while I drift through this place in search of new things to make, to build, to craft, to let explode from my mind onto a page, into a microphone, onto a canvas.
The zone sets my alarm bells ringing. What if all this stufff is just the proverbial pile of shite? What if it’s all for nothing, that, even after my death, it won’t be recognised as the valid art I, in my less lucid moments, think it is? And the rain keeps falling. The grey becomes even more grey. This all feeds the vitriol in my body. By now it’s at boiling point.
LONG PAUSE
I started this post on Tuesday. It’s now Saturday evening. I am constantly pushed and pulled between day job and creating.
But…
It’s only a week now until A Fear Of Heights is out. I’m very excited, though very conscious of the fact I’ve done hardly any marketing. There’s a conflict, too. A familiar one to all indie authors. Writing - marketing - writing???
The opening two lines of that book, one of my favourite ones:
And I am out of the twilight zone, sort of. I’ve managed to write 3 poems in the last week, despite all that vitriol I referred to, despite on some days having had to have been someone I’m not really, and I’m finding myself ready to take paper and pen on my holiday in a few weeks to finish the story about Agios Nikolaos that I started there in 2022 back there in 2024 (although I had hoped to get it done before we went).