At the right hour

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– you’ll catch a sky like this over Embra. A gloaming sky.  A few solitary clouds like this, delicate but moving fast.

 

If you’d like something to read, whatever hour of the day it is with you, I’ve written the next installment in a series of essays on The Female Gaze recapping Supernatural. One essay per episode per season (of which there are currently 8 – 8 essays). They do contain spoilers but I’m trying to dig into aspects (as well as problematic sides) provided in each episode.

 

Here’s a taster of the current essay:

 

You’ve thought it before. People have sung of it: Our lives could be very different to how they are now. Those tiny twists in fate accrued over time and became a part of you. That coin you dropped and didn’t stop to pick up. That spelling mistake on a job application. That face whose glance you chose to return with a smile. That time you pulled the bottle from your lips and made it stay put down.

You might not want things to be any different, but it doesn’t stop you thinking about how it could have been.

READ MORE

 

Aside from these essays, I’m trying to summon the energy to alter an essay on the Aethiopika, though the priority this week seems to be to edit Dear Friends and Gentle Hearts down to a sharp white point. I really want to tackle the long essay – stirred to do so by the kindness and insight of Chris J Rice – but whenever I sit down, it’s the novel I am dragged to. Make it better, make it lighter. Why are you taking so long with what will be a little clawed snow hare of a thing when it’s done?

 

My friend C gave me some advice that kicked me into action. Very simply, it was to number chapters, rather than write ‘chapter one’ etc as I had been doing. Such a small change made the text feel immediately fresher. And highlighted the soft squashy lines (and whole paragraphs) that needed peeling down.  Revelation. My eyes furring up as I struggle a page at a time, into the night.

 

So while I grow tired often and sometimes feel creatively spent, or isolated, I know that there is a community of writers and wise souls. Virgils, yes. But not leading me down to the inferno.  Writing back from their own spaces, waving across the ravines. Thank you, all.

 

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