damp tinder, beautiful limbs
Having spent the day (and a Saturday, at that) at WordCamp (with the merriment to continue on right into the depths of Sunday), of course I had to rush home to write my (now once-in-a-blue-moon) blog. But this could be done only after I poured a wine, ate leftover Pad Thai, listened to the new Radiohead album, King of Limbs, and caught up on House. And now I’ve got all that out of the way, as well as lavishing some attention on 1 x cat (god knows where 1 x other cat has got to — he’s far too cool for me these days), I’m ready to go. Until the next distraction, that is. Um, hang on a sec…
The trailing away in the last sentence wasn’t for comic effect. I did actually wander off. All of me, I mean, not just my attention. I had to just quickly admire the quite sudden and unexpected appearance of cherry tomatoes in my garden. I don’t know why they should be as unexpected as they are — I mean, I planted them with my own hands and everything — but to me they’re quite miraculous. And I have no desire to eat them, even. I just want to look at them. I also have about 100 or so apples I need to do something with before they turn to unsightly/slimy grass-mulch. I had no idea it was an apple tree until the other day when I looked out the window and discovered, well, 100 or so apples. And meanwhile the fruit on my oft-watched passionfruit vine has been stuck at the very very green stage for months.
I like this photo. It reminds me of a Turner waterscape (which is giving my photography skills a huge compliment, I know). Kind of like this one (if you squint a bit):
I’m quite excited because about a week ago I ordered a bunch of copies of Connor O’Brien’s Quiet City, which means it will turn up soon. You can download the collection of stories as a pdf, which I did. Call me old-fashioned, though, it was so lovely I had to procure physical copies of the thing. So now pretty much everyone who has a birthday between now and the end of March is getting a copy. Sorry to ruin the surprise if this applies to you. But, if it does, I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised anyway, even with all the guesswork gone.
King of Limbs is now on its fourth consecutive rotation (it’s just a short wee thing, and it sort of gets under your skin). I think it might get a couple more goes round before we have to leave the house around 10 tonight. Sylvie and Simon are both crashed out to it. I didn’t think it was Sylvie’s kind of music, but she’s looking extremely contemplative, huddled on today’s stack of newspaper, all limb-less with her paws tucked under like a fluffy paperweight. I’m thinking about removing Simon’s glasses because they’re making dent marks above the bridge of his nose (not far from the dancefloor accident scar), but I don’t want to wake him up. He just looks so peaceful and sweet. And it’s not often I say that.
And as for damp tinder. I’ve been thinking hard (in lieu of actually doing anything) about an analogy to describe lulls and dry spells and those patches where you hit what feels like the polar opposite of creative inspiration. I know people warn hard against waiting for the so-called muse. I get that. It’s very sensible. I get the it’s 99% perspiration thing, too. (And unfortunately for me I’ve never really been one for perspiration, in any sense of the word.) But why is it that sometimes, week in, week out, it feels like all I’m ever working with is damp tinder, when other times (less frequent though these times may be) I feel like I could maybe set the world on fire? I don’t get that, not at all.
Filed under: daytoday, digitalia, flora and fauna, flowers, mind games, moods, things I like, writing | 2 Comments
Tags: creative inspiration, Quiet City, Radiohead King of Limbs