Well, that was quite the rabbit hole. I was “called away” as they are wont to say in Victorian novels.
And meanwhile, off-stage there’s been an awful lot going on. Mostly hair-pulling as I tussle with the digital world. I’m actually quite relieved to be here in this little space again. Because my equilibrium is a bit askew after the past week or so.
The thing is, I’m shifting gears at the moment, which means all manner of clunking and creaking and whirring is going on. Because this is not exactly a well-oiled machine, here.
But first, a detour whilst I preface the story to follow…
Recently I completed a big, fat novel. It was some time in the making, (years, in fact). I remember soon after (a couple of months after) I began writing The Thing, someone I knew (who was never mad enough to consider such a venture) blithely asked me, “so, have you finished your book yet?”
And I smiled, and didn’t even have a nervous breakdown.
They kept asking me every few weeks, but after a while they ceased their enquiries. Not only because they thought me a lazy git, but because of the strange and alarming facial expressions such a question would provoke.
Because I think they thought the whole writing thing would be like this, (it was slightly drunken at times, though). Then it’s all done and bye-bye.
I shall spare you the whole blow-by-blow, because *yawn*. Suffice to say, I’ve written a fat, lurching book, not an elegant novella. And I also knew that this one would be the ground from which I properly work out the (real) book.
Because that book taught me things, (although my PhD was supposed to do that, and it did. Mostly about finishing what you start. But that’s another story).
Now I have a different book. A book that’s been yanking at my skirts this past year or so, like a hungry child. This is the book that keeps me awake in the night, its characters chattering away noisily at 4am. It’s bursting me at my seams.
It’s also the book I’m scared will get away if I don’t give it more of my time and energy.
So. Now for the actual story behind this post.
I’m sortin’ my Summer, dears. Which means rearranging lots of things so that I can take some solid time “off” to focus on this book-creature, and so I can write like a demon. Which is what I plan to be doing most days, minus the stinky, hot days, (as well as Chrimbly in the middle of it all). Because when it’s really hot, all I do is loll about moaning about the heat, and sobbing out requests for mint juleps.
But I digress. Since I’m putting other work things on hold, I’m opening two little shops. If that sounds excessive it’s simply because I’ve been dealing with Etsy bastardry and bedevilment (namely, their rules regarding vintage wares have me confounded).* So there shall be an Etsy venture, but slightly different to the one I envisioned. And another shop elsewhere without such constraints.
I’ll announce all that at some point soon. I hope. I’m sure you’re all on tenterhooks. Um, yeah.
The point is, all this is so I can do all of the things that I love, (especially the write-y things) over the next few months. Even if that means being in a few different digital places in order to make it all happen.
But it’s also because I want to share my hearth and sanctuary. A small healing space – nothing deep and meaningful, in truth. Just a bit of sweetness and light. Nothing more. Nor less than that, in fact.
But I do hope some of you will join me in my new space when I open that little door in the wall. I shall still be popping in here too. It’s just that the nature and, erm, “vibe” of my new digs is a bit different to here. Well, perhaps a little.
Once a wycked witch, always a wycked witch. Yours truly, etc.
I hope all is well with you, luvs?
Cats and cuddles to you, (but if cats aren’t your thing, forget the cats. They can be stressful anyway. Merlin cats are stressful, moste definitely). x
*Nothing newer than 20 years old, is permitted. So, properly “vintage”, then. *Grumble, grumble*. And yes, I shall adhere to their rules, because otherwise, stressful.