Sunday Supplement – 2

Brains are funny things. At least, mine certainly is. Asked to provide a short bio for someone (Laura, the editor of Braided Way, who has asked to reblog my post Winter – 3), I seem to freeze up in terror. It feels a little like trying to promote my books or my paintings – this ‘blowing my own trumpet’ doesn’t come easily to me. I feel reticent and more than a little embarrassed. I just find it hard to write about myself, unless disguising myself as a character in a story. In the end, I forced myself to make a list of bullet points of things I thought should go in, and then sort of joined up the dots. It still makes me feel awkward, though. Am I the only one who feels like this? Some people certainly seem particularly good at it, whereas I always feel anything like that I have to write like this seems trite and inadequate, yet also pompous.

My talented friend Mark Prestage who made the superb prints for my poem Viking, which we published as a zine (I still prefer the word pamphlet), also produces prints to grace the covers of cds for the band Yellow6. The latest one, Days is pictured below.

Yellow6 is described as ‘…the solo project of British guitarist Jon Attwood. Yellow6 has at times been described as post-rock, minimalist, electronica, ambient… the reality is that Yellow6 has some similarity with each of those genres but is not so easily definable, using aspects of drone, repetition, melody, harmony, noise and silence to create absorbing soundscapes to drift off into.’ Mark also took the photos gracing the insert of the CD, such as this one:

I got a copy of it last week and have been listening to it constantly.

I finished reading My Name is Red by Orhan Pamuk – which I’m so glad I returned to, with a thoroughly satisfying conclusion – and then went for something completely different. I’m now reading H is for Hawk by Helen Macdonald. I bought this about a year ago, and hadn’t got around to reading it, partly wondering whether it had been over-hyped. After all, surely a whole book talking about someone training a goshawk would be somewhat boring, right?

Wrong. Totally wrong. In the words of the cliche, I could not put it down. The goshawk is a real character, who looms out of the book larger than life (see the cover!) dominating Helen’s life in the same way she dominates the picture.

n.b. Reminder to self. ‘Arty’ photographs are all very well, but several of them all together can look pretty naff…

And how is my writing going? I’m so glad you asked. Plugging away at A Good Place, still. And it probably will not surprise anybody one jot to hear I’ve decided to weave a couple of extra strands into the plot, which will naturally involve quite a bit of extra writing.

You might be forgiven for thinking I never want to finish the dratted thing…

Finally, I put up the last part of ‘Winter’ last week, and for my next post I think I should put up something a little, well, warmer and more cheerful! So probably a re-post of one of my Indian posts, one from a few years back that my follower may not have already seen. And perhaps I’ll tweak it a little.

Probably.

The Beastie From The Eastie

Yes, we’ve had some snow.

And oddly, despite this being the UK, lots of things are still working.

Although, to glance at the newspapers you could be forgiven for thinking the End Of The World was here.

But the sun was out this morning, so I wandered out for a bit of a bimble in the countryside.

view

Fresh snow always feels magical.

I suppose this is because it is a pure white, because it sparkles in the sun and even in the night time it appears to glow.

It covers things up, but sits lightly upon them.

There is a purity to fresh snow that causes the landscape to feel cleaner and purer, too.

While the snow is falling, sound seems to be muffled and absorbed, so that one exists in a silent wonderland.

Shadows

It transforms a dull winter landscape into something bright and very special.

some paths are still clear

Some of the paths are still easy to find,

Some paths are less obvious

While others have become less obvious.

tracks

The animals have their own paths, that we are often unable to tread.

view 2

But there is a silence over everything, and every now and again a breath of wind sends a thousand sparkling snow diamonds drifting down through the branches of the trees.

some things are hidden

The snow hides much…

Footprints

But it reveals where we have been.

Some shapes become more mysterious

And it makes some shapes more mysterious.