Barnacles and birdsong

 Still in lockdown but with more freedom in sight, I am struggling to climb out of my happy default mode of slobbed-out hedonism with a not-too-painful scaffold of discipline. So what does that look like?

Spring cleaning and decluttering were well under way before the virus hit. That was because we were expecting doggy (and tortoise) house sitters for Easter – until Cyprus was cancelled. The good thing about a backlog of cleaning is that it makes a difference.

Trips to the ACW Facebook page showed a spectrum of opinions on whether this was a good time for writers. The jury was out. Where was I? Did I even ask the question? Without taking stock I slid into couch potato mode as if I'd been training for it all my life

There was some tinkering with blogs and other short pieces of writing and, oh yes, my long promised website / blog launched: benedictunravelled.uk.  Scary, even exciting. But buried deep for two years has been the 'book'. Easy to believe in its huge potential whilst it remained securely mothballed. That way, I could avoid the unpleasant fact that if it ever surfaced again, much hard work would be needed.

The main barrier was some feedback that I wished I hadn't invited. Two friends had been kind enough to plough through it before its internment. One said she couldn't put it down (but she was in it, so had bias) and the other had to put it down for a while because it triggered off something painful. The difficult feedback came from a professional who was more forthright, even scathing. I walked away for two weeks, then two months and now it is two years!

But I'm in a different place now, having shed some major responsibilities and gained perspective. The abrasive feedback was mostly spot-on and useful. Time to drag 'the book' into dry dock and face the next barrier – a mess of assorted documents on screen which made sense then but not now. The failed attempt at Scrivener was neatly contained in its folder. No need to disturb.  Several manuscripts claimed to be the master document whilst version two was an empty folder. Then there were the strays like a car insurance quote and Aunt Edna's funeral sheet. No idea how they got there. I started to scrape off the barnacles and explore whether there was anything worth saving underneath.

All this was going on against a backdrop of soul shattering birdsong from the spinney in front of my window. We live in urban Woodlands, subject of the draft fantasy novel that came out of Nano 2018. It inspires me, lifts my spirit, tells me of that other world, of our creator, of infinite possibilities. Perhaps now is the time to take courage, salvage whatever is worthwhile and embark on a radical rewrite.

    

    Eileen Padmore has retired from a life spent in health care  and academia, having worked in Sierra Leone, Zambia, Eire and Northern Ireland (in the troubles) as well as inner city Birmingham and Leeds.  She has had articles published in Woman Alive, Christian Writer and contributed to the popular ACW Lent Book. Married to a professional musician, the family includes a feisty springer spaniel and a large African tortoise. Eileen has recently launched her website / blog: benedictunravelled.uk