"In the midst of winter, I found, within me, an invincible summer" Albert Camus
How to do that without moving a muscle and other tricks to trickle through winter
An invincible summer; the very idea is as bolstering to the soul as a shot of ginger is to the body as we stagger out of January and into the final month of winter.
This is the superpower of the writer, that you can silently transport yourself and any number of characters to places and situations the rest of your household and the wider world could only dream of. I was listening to author and journalist Charlotte Philby talking at a festival a couple of months ago, and she mentioned that she was introducing ever more decadent destinations into her books to deliberate effect. In her latest there is South of France, Mallorca, Cape Cod and New York to enjoy. Glamorous places she said, are catnip for Netflix producers. As someone whose characters have rarely left North Norfolk in the 35 years I have been writing novels, this was an arresting notion. I currently have a character lurking behind a door. What altered state shall they step into?
Over the past few days my world has been teeming with characters, most of them not my own, as members of the zoom group I lead came together IN REAL LIFE for a weekend of writing, nattering, star gazing and mud muddling and above all chatting.
We had delicious food, made by the astonishing chef, Fleur Cooks and as each wonderful plate appeared on the table, my long held belief that even thinking about cooking supper saps creative energy like a tap with the washer gone, was re-enforced. We were all women on this occasion, mostly with families or at least someone dependent on our hitting the fridge and the cooker night after night to put something half decent on the table. WHY DO WE DO THIS TO OURSELVES? It get’s in the way of work. there is no way around this. But while you are absorbing the terrible rock-around-neck unfairness of it - and by the way I love cooking, the whole thing is just complicated - here is a recipe for spaghetti with breadcrumbs and anchovies, that will get you out of trouble OFTEN. It is created by the utterly brilliant Rachel Roddy, whose life in Rome is fascinating to read about in FIVE QUARTERS and even better to cook from. This is fast food, easy and satisfying to make and eat. Writers need to learn how to do it.
Anyway, not cooking meant we could sit and talk about writing without interruption unless we wanted to go off for a bath, or a walk, or to help pull a car out of the mud. This bit was unscheduled yet repeated. Here are some bath salts that help this sort of bumpy and un-writerly experience evaporate. And here is the rack. You must get one with a book stand.
Anyway, what with the dramas, the eating, the talking and the writing, we hardly noticed the date, and suddenly January was defeated and we woke up already well into February.
A childhood friend of mine from Norfolk is the playwright Anna Mackminn. I have not seen her since we were very young, but am always intrigued by the life and work of any contemporary of mine, especially one who also comes from the wilder reaches of North Norfolk. Her play Backstroke , which she has both written and directed, opens at the Donmar Warehouse this month. Starring Celia Imrie and Tamsin Greig as the mother and daughter trying to wrestle past and present into something they can bear. See it if you can.
This sub stack is just a trunk full of tricks that will see us through until suddenly its March and daffodils are flouncing, the sky is as often blue as not, and we are shunting on towards spring. This year, the world needs us to get there in fine fettle.
With love until next time..
Raffaella xxx