The urge to write

It really wasn’t the day for wild writing today – in fact it hasn’t been the right day for that sort of thing for the last forty-one days (yes, 41) By the 9th of February, England has already reached 59% of February’s average rainfall (72% in southern England as a whole) I have to make it clear, I wasn’t expecting to do any wild writing which we had first come across in a transformative workshop from the amazing Natasha Carthew several years ago. However, I had a couple of hours to kill in town for various reasons, and having killed some of that time with a coffee in Waterstones, I had the urge to write.

The urge to write needs several things for it to become actual writing, primarily something to write with and on. Yes, I do a lot of writing in my head, but now I wanted to do it in person with my hand, a pen and some paper. I had my phone, but I was expecting a call and didn’t want to run out of battery, so I drifted around thinking about writing when I came to the stationary shelves. I have a terrible weakness for stationary, which I’ve had from being a child, so I stopped and looked at all the various notebooks, journals and diaries, actually opening some of them to admire how they were set out, line-spacing, margins, header space, the quality of the paper, the covers… yes, I had a pleasant few minutes (or maybe more) admiring the display.

I don’t really know how it happened, but I was innocently enjoying looking at the different covers, particularly one covered in firs, pines and coniferous trees – a couple of them had been caught by the frost, or were covered in snow, or were just pale for some reason, and suddenly it was in my hand. The next thing I knew I was admiring the quality of the paper inside, its smoothness, the pleasing line-spaces, the amount of header and footer… resolutely i closed it but the cover grabbed my attention again. I felt as if I was standing on higher ground, looking down at this forest, and almost hidden from view was what appeared to be a chimney – except it was green… I imagined walking down from my elevated position, down through the trees, taking care on the uneven ground so i didn’t tumble or fall…

Here was a story writing itself – I needed a pen – here was just the one, it was green and shiny, and before I knew it I had bought the book and pen, and a cup of coffee to sustain myself, and I was writing! it was wild!!

https://www.writersandartists.co.uk/advice/wild-writing