It’s been five years since I started this blog. Way back in 2010, when I was 26, I wrote my first post – ‘Fresh Tracks‘ which was in its puzzled, poetic, fragmented way talking about my hopes for the future, and for the novel that would become Flesh of the Peach.
This year Flesh of the Peach was chosen for publication, and my first collection is coming out soon (though it still seems unreal). When I wrote that post, D and I had been in New York a few months, struggling along in a flat plagued by bedbugs, in a Queens neighbourhood barren of trees and filled with sleepy, overworked commuters. Now we’re back in Edinburgh, and things are full of light, and the novel is done, but the work is not. Who can say where we’ll be in another five years time? Will this blog even be a part of my life? Will you still be reading it? Will there be more of my books out in the world? Should there be limits set, or just like this – a quiet happiness at what’s been achieved so far.
Stopping a moment from the lookout. Taking in the hazy air, and the bridges ahead. Which ones to be taken, which ones to be half-crossed and then returned from. Which ones will lead out over a wild, new sea.