Routines

 October was a long month this year, I don't know why, but it had felt that way. The last week was all about preparations for NaNoWriMo. It wouldn't be my first one, but I usually participate only every second year and after the last, strange year, it felt more like an occasion. Maybe because I have dedicated the last two years to editing, and thinking about proper, messy writing again filled me with ideas about not having enough hours in the day.

There are never enough hours by the way. However, I also needed to carry on with (hopefully final) edit of my second book. In the past, I would probably put it aside and concentrate on NaNoWriMo, but this year I didn't want to lose the thread. I want to finish that edit, as I am at the stage when I'm getting tired of reading the story yet again, thinking about littlest things in the text. But when I spot a silly mistake that had made it through four edits (!!!!), I know it was worth the time. If I did put the almost finished project away, it would take longer to get going, knowing I would have to read it again in order to move on to formatting and cover work...

I simply kept reminding myself that I will have to be organised. Because routines work. Read my previous post, if you want to read more on that.. During October, my old meditation mala beads broke. It was getting lose and finally, the loosened string gave up. I had a spare set of beads which was never used, but it didn't feel the same. Meditation is what taught me about routine and meditating with mantra and the beads is what works. I can't sit randomly and hope that my mind will be still and that I will somehow know that the right amount of time had passed. And, unfortunately, I don't get lost in a blissful state, away from time and thoughts. Sitting down with a mantra and the beads running slowly through my fingers helps me to focus and marks the time. I don't have to worry, simply let the process happen.

I knew I would have to repair the mala beads, and have made sure to gather them all (because there have to be 108 of them plus the bigger guru bead). Seeing November slowly approaching, I had the feeling that it must be done before it starts, together with many other random little things that I was putting aside. There was a rush of urgency, the need to clear out the tasks in order to be able to focus on writing in November. 

The most difficult part, as always, was to start. I had to find the right string and also create a new tassel. I didn't have to, but I wanted to make the new beads my own. They are sandal wood beads and original string and tassel were orange. I had the right shade and length of string for new orange beads, but also many other colours and decided to make a colourful tassel that would have colours of the chakras. I have worked with the chakras a lot this year and it seemed like a nice idea to remind myself every time I pick the beads up.

With everything ready, it seemed impossible to find the time to sit down and put it all together. Until I realized that if I don't do it, I won't find time during November, and finally started. And, as usual, once I was in the flow of things, it was a nice process. After reading up on malas, I have decided to separate each bead with a knot, so it was quite a slow progress, but making a mala is a practice on its own. 

Sitting down to meditate with the new mala in hand, I'd felt happy. I am used to the beads and the new string makes them more personal and comfortable. They reminded me about the importance of doing things regularly and with attention, and also about the weird attachment we develop with some things in life. The new beads they are here with me as I am closing down the first week of NaNoWriMo. So far, so good. Words are coming together like beads on a string...

On The Horse Again

 The best way to keep up with things is to do them regularly. I've started practising yoga at the age of fourteen, but my practice was sometimes smooth, other times rushed, many times forgotten. It took me time to find the style I like, figure out that the breathing and relaxing parts are as important as the physical postures and, mostly, that there is no way to be ready to meditate. I just have to try. And I need to build a practice that has all these elements in it. And even after that, it wasn't regular enough. I have travelled a lot, moved a few times, it wasn't simple.

But, since the end of 2017, I didn't skip a day. Sometimes, there is a full session, other times there is only a basic one. I do need to stretch and move often, my body doesn't feel right otherwise, but the pranayama and meditation (or, should we say, concentration practice) were so easy to skip and put away for the other day. Ever since I have made the promise to keep at it daily, it became so much a part of me, that skipping is impossible. I may not yet have achieved the right state of mind, but I at least know that I give it a try every day. Sometimes I meditate on a plane (that was obviously a long time ago), or wake up early while travelling with family and sit in a normal chair instead of cross-legged on my mat. But I do my meditation. And I do daily breathing exercises. Even when unwell, at least a quiet and calm focused full breaths are better to bring me into the present moment than simply putting it off for another day. Because the little daily effort is so much more than a perfect practice once a fortnight when everything falls into place and I have the right amount of time and the mood... Ironically, I was very worried about catching covid, because it could break my routine. It bothered me more than potentially dying of it...

This has taught me how important it is to build a habit and make an effort. And I managed to incorporate it into writing. It is nice to imagine that being a writer means sitting at the desk and madly creating for eight hours straight, lost in the story, forgetting the world. The truth is, creation is random and sometimes it is like that, but writing is also about editing, formatting, re-reading, and for these tasks 'little and often' is the key. When I edit a chapter a day, I give it more attention, don't rush, don't tired myself out. I feel that I have done more work than when I am madly trying to go through half of a manuscript because I am in a mood and nobody is disturbing me right now.

The 'little and often' method helped me to publish Grey Rainbow last year. I have tried to repeat the formula with Bodies, my next book waiting (even though it is the first book I have ever written!) and I was doing well until August. I have decided to give myself a break in August, because the summer holiday was different and I wanted to make sure that my daughter has some activities and little adventures. In a normal year, we would go camping, do some small trips, and  have a main holiday, probably somewhere in Europe, or we would be visiting family abroad. This year, camping in England was our highlight (no complaints, it was truly great), because even Wales was fully booked, and being home meant making more effort in order to make the days off count. And, besides, I had to rescue our garden. It was in a state of neglect...

September came and I was meant to go back to editing and book preparations, but working on the cover meant that I was putting it off as much as I could... I am trying to become a graphic artist and I am not doing well.. If I could simply paint a cover on paper, then somehow scan it and use it, life would be so much simpler. But I had to think about pixels, dimensions, files... Anyway. Together with new school year, other things going on, and the garden still needing some work, September was by its end when I have realized that I have fallen of the editing horse big time. I've tried to make up quickly by printing out the manuscript - another way to get frustrated with technology...

Today, I am back on the horse. Finally, after almost two weeks of hoping to edit and failing, because now, when the garden is almost sorted and ready to go quiet in the winter months, we are working on the garage and utility room. It needs to be updated, reorganised, and repaired. So, yes, if I don't do it, nobody will and writing is counted as a hobby... But the more time I spend without doing something - writing, editing, anything, the harder it is to climb up on the imaginary horse and get going again. So, giving it an hour that I could just sit down and read the manuscript aloud, I feel great. Because I have reminded myself, that finding and hour is possible. I don't have to fall off the horse again.

Note: I've saved this draft on October 9th. I can announce that not only I am on the horse and moving forward, I am also prepping for NaNoWriMo. November will be mad, but I am ready!

Why Don't You...

 On top of all the pressures of modern life, there is now a trend of making your hobby pay. Anything people enjoy doesn't really matter if it isn't shared online. And if it doesn't bring money, followers, or recognition, it doesn't really matter that it makes you happy. People don't talk about things they like to do, they show it off. Same with holidays - nobody tells stories and shows photos, they are put online instantly while you are there. Getting away from it all isn't cool.

My sister knits. She finds inspiration on podcasts, blogs and websites. She follows some people who made it into a job, have built a business out of their hobby. It makes them happy, but it also brings them stress. Some people thrive and make it a success, others come and go. But many friends ask her: why don't you start a blog or a website yourself? She usually says that she doesn't bring out new patterns or styles, she mainly follows instructions. The true is, she does exactly what makes her happy and sees no reason in shouting it to the world. Why don't you open a shop, then? Sell knitwear online? Because to make it worth, the product would be really expensive and probably wouldn't sell (without massive following of dedicated fans). The effort of changing a hobby into a business would take the pleasure away forever. One thing is to spend few weeks or even months making a sweater for yourself, other is making something to order, with a deadline. Where is the fun in that?

Other friend loves lots of crafts. She sews, knits, crochets, make beads, whatever. She did want to open an online shop after her child has started school and her days have opened up a little, yet she couldn't find a job that fits the hours. Then she calculated how much she would have to charge to make a profit. And looked at what people expect to pay for home-made crafts. And realized that she would have to make lots and lots stuff, work through the night, sell a lot, to make it worth the material, energy, time, postage...

I bake. Husband asked why don't I sell my baguettes at the school fair? Because I can easily make 6 baguettes by hand and bake them in my home oven. And it takes a day with two proofs. But to sell them, I would need to make lots, lets say 60. Again, by hands? In our home oven? On the day of the fair? When I came with the practical questions to his suggestion, I was met with a shrug and the impression that I was unimaginative, lazy, can't think outside the box. First question I had was, why do I have to shout to the world that I enjoy baking? So what?

During lock down, people asked why don't I teach yoga again? Everybody is offering online classes, why don't I? Because if I am not already in the business, don't have contacts and a customer base, how am I actually making myself visible in the sea of influencers? And how is home production of classes for free actually making it worth it? And who will do the home-school while I am busy filming? Plus, not teaching yoga means a very good daily practice that fits around my life and, honestly, when it is time to return to a class, I will know it, but in the meantime, I am fine as I am. It doesn't  make me less of a yogi. The truth is, I don't mind taking break from teaching, because doing something I love most is more important than being successful, rich, or popular. It doesn't make it less worthy, quite the opposite.

I grew up with people quietly going on with things, pottering in gardens and sheds, making, crafting, mending, creating things. And it is nice that we are finding lots of these crafts again. But why does everything have to be publicized, hash tagged, and monetized? If something makes us happy, isn't it enough? I tried to turn the best thing I know - yoga, into my job. And it wasn't great. There were great moments, but I established the fact that marketing and self-promotion isn't my strength, and it makes me weary about getting back. Life is busy as it is and I know that other opportunities will present themselves. However, to live for the likes isn't a life. How many people ask every day for help with coping, anxiety, sadness, feeling of failure? The previous generation didn't live online, didn't seek instant gratification, didn't need to show a proof of their existence every day. They weren't stronger than us, they just lived a different way of life. We can learn something from them, and just simply be without the need to justify it. Doing something for ourselves is enough, however imperfect the result. It may be the best free therapy we have. And to simply do something for the sake of doing it and to be happy with the result is more than enough.

Besides, becoming a self-published author made me realize that marketing is really not my strong part. But writing is, and books are great. That is probably the one hobby that makes sense to change into a career (as long as there is another way to pay the bills).

Musings in the garden

 I have come to the conclusion that a garden is very much like marriage. You move to a grown up house and it has a garden. It may be well-kept or something to start to work on. And you want to make it a success. You either decide to keep it in the great condition you have found it, or you carefully plan a lie out, consult a professional, ask friends and family for advice, start visiting garden centres as often as you used to frequent night clubs or fashion chains. Whatever the starting point is, you are confident that you will  make it work and it will be great.

Isn't it similar to a relationship? You moved in, lived together, decided to make it official and found a new 'forever' home. Or, you dated for a long time and decided to make it official, after talking about it extensively with your friends and family, maybe even a priest. Then, after the wedding, you move in together and start to live as a family that you now are.

The garden surprises you. Lets go with the option of a garden you've inherited from previous owners. Before you know it the grass is tall to your knees, there are weeds, you can't see the soil between the flowers which are now dead and overgrown, not looking their best. It may look a little bit like the end of the honeymoon phase, when you realize that you can't even remember what the carefully written vows had actually said, but the reality is kicking in and life is somehow the same as before, only without a wedding and a honeymoon to look forward to, only bills, thank you cards, administrative tasks, and pressure about 'pattering of tiny feet'. You realize that this will take work.

You have an early success. In the first season, you try to sow some seeds, add a few new plants, have a go with strawberries. And you bring home a platter of fruit a day for a while, have a crop harvest of zucchini and tomatoes, your flowers blossom. You find out that the grass needs to be cut at least once in two weeks and that weeds grow faster when it rains. You meet slugs... But you feel optimistic. You have your own food (well, some, but it does feel good not having to buy strawberries or tomatoes). In your marriage, you sorted the post-wedding stuff, settled in your new life, learnt your new signature. You got it!

For the next year, you decide to start a new vegetable patch, grow more produce, get a bird feeder and some nice furniture. You imagine hosting barbeques, lazing on a sun lounger, living more or less outside few months in the year. Husband buys a massive grill and puts it right under the arch on which roses started to climb. You argue what matters more - a good barbeque spot, or nice rose arch? The weather is horrible and you use the garden furniture only twice. Visitors tell you they already had lots of strawberries, their kids stomp in your new flowers, and the vegetable patch is eaten up by slugs. That much for spinach and kale smoothies every morning. In your married life, you find out that fertility issues are more common than you would have thought. People who clapped you on the wedding day remind you that marriage should be done in a certain way and the way is different from what you are doing. But you won't give up, you have the best partner in the world!

Similar scenarios continue through the years. You can't rely on the crop you have hoped to get. It is endless work. So is marriage. Year after year, you look out of the window in February and you start planning what will you grow this year, forgetting that in November you swore you won't bother. In your marriage, you are very much used to your partner. If you do have kids in the end, the next few years will really give you a break from gardening, because you have no energy left. If you don't have kids, there may be pets. Or, ideally, the garden really becomes your sanctuary, a special place where you care for nature and yourself.

There are times when you want to give up. One option is concrete, decking, or artificial turf. In your marriage, that may mean the end. You may only partially give up. Stop growing things, minimal weed maintenance, necessary grass trim, just meh. You may or may not spend time in there. If you do, you notice wildlife. And you think to yourself, that at least you are rewilding... In you marriage, you may live side by side, but don't really care that much. It is what it is. You may make more effort, but is it worth it? You realize that gardening isn't really for you. Same with marriage. But you have a garden now. And a husband. So you get along with it. Possibly, your garden thrives. You make it yours. Change it in a way that works for you. It is a beautiful place. In that case, congratulation, you are in a happy marriage, if you are still going with the metaphor. 

I have these thoughts in my head after weird winter, cold spring, heatwave, and a very wet summer. Our garden looks like a jungle. Behind the fence, some weeds are the size of a small tree. Most strawberries rotted while being eaten by slugs. We have one zucchini and tree carrots. But, whatever. It  is what it is. Relationships, just like nature, move in circles, not in a line.

North East Pilgrimage

 After booking a camping spot in the Northumberland, I was glad to find a big choice of destinations in Britain's Pilgrim Places book. I've soon discovered that a week-long stay with  my family won't allow me to see all of them, but we did manage some and they were great.

To me, pilgrimages are about walking and exploring, but in the Northeast, you can't ignore the saints. They are in all of the stories about the old times of Christianity, stories entwinned with the environment, sea, old legends, and castles. You just know that you are in a place full of history where people lived for a long time and have strong connection with the elements. And you just take it in and learn some new things on the way.

Two names you will hear a lot are St Aidan and St Cuthbert. Stories involving them link places on and off the land.

We've visited Bamburgh and St Aidan's Church, a beautiful old building with impressive sea view. It is easy to spot the old wooden beam on which St Aiden allegedly lay dying. It is now by the ceiling to prevent enthusiasts from chipping away souvenirs and keepsakes. But this place is also important for the story of Grace Darling, a young girl who helped to save lives of 13 shipwrecked people from the Farne Islands in 1838.

After much searching, and troubles from grumpy land owners, we have managed to locate St Cuthbert's Cave. A slab of overhanging sandstone, on a top of a hill, it is a nice place to visit and then continue walking higher up, admiring the views. It is believed that in the 870s St Cuthbert's body was hidden in the cave by monks while fleeing Viking raids. The cave is inaccessible at the moment, we didn't see the graffiti described in the book, but altogether, it was a good walk.

Holy Island is a much easier to find destination, very popular by tourist, connected to the main land by a road that floods twice in a day, so times of visit need to be carefully planned. Once there, it is a place full of history, legends, stories, and, of course, saints. The Lindisfarne Priory dominates the views as you circle around the island, so even without queuing and paying entrance fee, we saw quite a lot and enjoyed this very special place.

Last of the pilgrimage list, Inner Farne Island, was the most remarkable trip. We've managed to find a free place on the boat, not easy in covid times. The hour long stay on the island was devoted to bird watching, the chapel and surrounding space were closed to visitors at the time. St Cuthbert used to live on the island and was considered a guardian of the land and birds, because he banned people from hunting them. The island is busy with birds and visitors, but there are glimpses of what solitude may feel like, if, by a chance, you were the only person left on the island.

After the island visit, we were taken around the other islands in the group, saw more birds, seals, and the place where Grace Darling and her family used to live and where the famous lives saving operation happened.

This Summer Holiday

 As many other people, we didn't even bother looking into international travel this year. Just going somewhere within UK now feels like a treat. Camping used to be an easy addition to our schedule, something to do over a long weekend. Now it became the main event. Finding a free camping space was as difficult as a search for a truly reasonably priced flight to Europe in pre-pandemic years. Packing the car was as exciting as a trip through the airport check-in, security, shops and gate queue for dear child. All of us felt special for simply leaving the home and sleeping somewhere else for the first time in more than a year.

We have spent a week in the Northumberland. And it was great. Dear child had the best time, because the school year had only just ended and we could see the thrill from the freedom, the long weeks of free time stretching ahead. I still remember that feeling... But being around the beautiful part of the world, discovering new places and fulfilling a dream of meeting puffins was great for us all. 

Back home, the old routines are calling, on top of all the unpacking, washing, cleaning, sorting... And the worries about how to fill the rest of the summer break while maintaining some level of work and project accomplishments. The usual parenting dilemmas.

However, I have learnt a few things. Socializing in covid times is possible, even easy when outdoors. Investing in a good tent is a very good idea. So is finding a good dog sitter, because camping with dogs is fun, but you can't explore as much as you can without the dog. My nagging feeling that lockdown is too comfortable for me and I should shake up my routine and leave the house, garden and sourdough starter, because they will cope without me for a while, was true. I will need to find more to do, change direction, leave housewifing. It is time. Yes, lockdown helped me to publish a book and build a good writing routine, as well as maintain very good yoga practise and meditation routine, but it is time to meet the world. The trip reminded me about the big bright world out there. I knew it was there, I've known it and travelled it extensively, but as soon as I finally started making plans for my possible future as the child and dog grew and became less demanding, the pandemic started and everything was paused.

I have already written about the fact that I am a loner, that I liked lockdown. But since the spring, after kids went back to school, I started thinking that I am almost hiding behind it all. I was needed for home school. But I also discovered how busy I can be around the house. Guess what? I can organize myself better, get husband of his ass and help, and if everything won't done to perfection the world won't end. So, after unpacking and settling, I will start my next adventure. Because change is good. Seize the day...

Climate Talk

 Getting ready one morning last week, I got annoyed by the climate talk on the news. It wasn't the first time. The mentions of Glasgow Summit that will happen is always presented as something great, big, fantastic. The prime minister uses it as a filler to pretend that he cares. But what it will be about?

I still have the Paris Summit in my memory, even though I didn't really follow the news about it. But the endless discussions, voting, tension, made it so interesting to watch. And when they all clapped at the end, people thought that something will finally start happening. How naïve. Nothing ever happens after these summits. The attendees make endless talk, they reach an agreement, vaguely create goals that sound nice, put them in a future distant enough for them to be out of politics, positions, retired; they shake their hands, go home, world forgets until the next summit comes and it all repeats itself.

I am getting more and more irritated and impatient. Besides pointless summits, we are often presented with the suggestion that we can buy our way out of the disaster. Once we all buy the electric car, replace our boiler for something more expensive, insulate our homes, we will all be better off. As long as we, little citizens, keep paying and spending, we will all be fine. How will all the things be produced? How many resources, how much energy? Where will the power for the magic car come from? Oh, I forgot to mention the super expensive solar power blocks I am meant to buy once I insulate the roof. There will be grants, of course. It will all be connected, you see? But how will the things be made, transported, put together? How will that affect the climate? Nature? Biodiversity?

The little less interesting message, that consuming less, wanting less, being more frugal, gets lost in the big shiny profit making messages. How many people believe it? How many care? Lots do, but they feel overwhelmed, intimidated, give up before even trying anything.

Hearing Prince Charles speaking that morning reminded me about my childhood, when all these messages and signs were already there, deeply unfashionable. Now it is at least cool to recycle, take your own bag to the shop and drink tap water from your own bottle. Of course, somebody can sell you stylish recycling bin, nice bag and a personalised bottle. I remember being a little girl, worrying about the future, thinking about how to protect it. Back then, I cared most about the animals that were disappearing. I still do, but there are so many more issues. It is all nice that I can save energy by washing my laundry at 30. But will the great washing powder affect marine life? It's not just climate, it is about everything.

The only people talking sense right now are Extinction Rebellion, but they are also making themselves unpopular with their protests and therefore harder to be listened to. I get the message, I know they feel they have to wake us up, there is no time to waste, but I am also sad that it can't be better. I feel frustrated that they can't get themselves heard and help us to do something instead of discussing how to protest 'properly'.

When the pandemic started, there was so much talk about how we will change our way, our mindset, our life style. But as long as money is the only measure of profit, endless growth the goal, and the environment without value if it can't be made into fast profit, I don't see a way out. I proudly do my little thing, I know I am not perfect, but I can't stop to worry. I always remember the saying 'We inherited this planet from our parents and borrowed it from our children' and feel sad about the state of the world our kids will have to deal with. Because, unless we stop kidding ourselves, it will only get worse.

And before I have managed to publish this post, there were the European floods, Chinese floods, fires in the USA continue and the UK has a heathwave. But, yes, they will talk about it in Glasgow and we will all be fine...

About Grey Rainbow

 My book has been out for a while and the process of marketing is... daunting. It really is as hard as I thought it would be, as every single indie writer had said it would be, as the general public assumes it would be... I wasn't the one exception, the lucky one, the one who managed to get it right.

But I have published a book. I am a writer. I do what I love to do. And that matters.

Busy editing my second book (which, actually is the first book I've ever finished!), it is easy to somehow forget about the first one. It is done, the files are saved and backed up, the paperback proof is in the box (because I can't open it and find yet another coma or word out of place!). But the interesting thing is: I still think about my characters.

The book is called Grey Rainbow and it is a mixture of what I know: communism, growing up during its end, life behind the iron curtain and life after the iron curtain, family dynamics, Austria. I took what I know and created a story inspired by it, but it is not a book about me, my characters are fictional. But, the main character has lots of me in her. Of course she does, she grew up in the same town, had a difficult mother (not the same like me but similar), found out that she doesn't belong where she was born, has endless curiosity, is independent and strong... So, I have a bond with her. And because of her, I believed in the book and in the story and have decided that it would be my first published book. Because it felt right.

I tried literary agents, but had no success. Women's fiction is tricky. It is very vague. It is big. Women love to read and love stories. BUT. If you are writing women's fiction in Britain, it should be British. I have read many articles about how difficult it is to bring foreign stories to the UK. People don't read many translated books. Sure, there are plenty of stories, plenty of good material here. But the whole world is outside. OK. There is Ireland, USA, India. Also, lately, Africa. Let's say, there are the historical ties, the places that click, places that are not too foreign.

Is a book that happens in the early 2000s current or historical? Who knows. It is yesterday to me, not remembered by many. Europe at the time isn't too interesting, not for Britain. I wrote my foreign book about foreign people in English, but it was still too 'not what we are looking for at the moment' for the traditional houses. Of course. It was written by someone who doesn't really belong here or there, who had never really belonged anywhere. Which makes me a perfect indie talent, right?

So I set to work and self published. Because I can't make my Petra - the main character of Grey Rainbow, different. She is a Czech girl who stubbornly went against the tradition and did her own thing, found her home in Austria, opened her own business and found love she didn't look for. I can't cut this story different, make it more marketable. I don't even know how to market it properly. What book is it most similar to? Well, I don't know. I don't write what the market wants, I write what I feel. Which agent or publishing house would fit best? Who am I to know? My name is unknown, I don't have connections, I didn't live in the UK until 2007. It is my home, but in the eyes of many people, I am not from here. So how do I get my foot in the door? I just build my own entrance.

The book is out. The pandemic will be a memory of editing, editing, proof reading and more editing. The frustration that was cover art. The discovery of the fact that to create an eBook wasn't easy, but paperback was way harder and I should've really started with that one. And the day that I pressed the final Go For It button and declared myself and author will also always flutter in my mind when people talk about the pandemic and lockdowns in the future. The world didn't care. I did. And I became a writer.

And then it was quiet. It still is. But the book is there. And I am busy editing the other one. But my characters keep coming back to me. I think about them. About how they are now. What are they up to. I offer possibilities. I worry that I am too cruel. I remind myself that such thing as happily ever after doesn't exist. Spoiler alert (sort of): we leave Petra when she is happy, because she is in love. She is in the phase of a relationship when you think that it will always be that good, because this is it and the rest of the world got it wrong, but you found gold. But it must change. Yes, of course they are still together. But I have to throw things at them, they can't just hold hands and smile today, since 2003. My mind offers ideas, situations, solutions. I see them how they are now. I even wonder how they would cope with the pandemic. Not how I would write about it, I think about them like I think about other people I know.

Do I write a sequel? I didn't plan it. But the characters, to me, are very real and special. They made me a writer. I lived with them for a while, thought about them a lot (not as much as about dear child but definitely more than about husband). What happens to character when the book is done? You either write a series, or you keep thinking about them, don't you? Now there is a question for the writing community!

Anyway, the book is available here: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Grey-Rainbow-Lucinda-Real-ebook/dp/B08PPNYRS8/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=lucinda+real+grey+rainbow&qid=1623944002&sr=8-1 

 Check it out and have a great day!

Power of Silence

 I went away again. No blogs, no social media, no communication. I just didn't feel like talking. Not long ago I was thinking that I was starting to figure out how to talk to  people online, but my timeline on twitter went silent again.

Why? Who knows. I didn't have an easy life at home. Relationship went through a rocky path. I wasn't in a mood of pretending that everything was rosy. It just it what it is... I've made my bed, I will lie on it... As I got over it, my vaccination date arrived and with it another crisis.

I reacted quite badly to the vaccine and had spent all last weekend in bed, shivering, in fever. Then I got better, just tired. So I did what I had to do, bare minimum, and the rest could wait. Including talking to the world. It clearly doesn't miss me, which suits me just fine.

But there is a book to edit, another to promote, world to conquer... And people are generally nice, why not engage?

What kept me sane and calm, besides yoga, breathing exercises and meditation (or attempts to meditate), were crafts. I was sitting, listening to radio, knitting. Then I tried making bracelets. And it was so calming, taking bracelets that never worked or fell apart, and giving them new life. Unlike knitting, the result came much faster. And with the finished project, the energy came back. I want to show them to the world, and while I am at it, why not talk a little?

While crafting, I stumbled upon a radio play Portrait of a Lady, and loved listening to it. The uneasy life story of the heroine and all the other characters suited my present disillusion. It remained me why stories matter, why they are worth to be told. No happy ending. At certain age, we don't want happy endings, they aren't believable. Sad or open endings are easier to comprehend, I believe.

Manchester Pilgrimage

 I gave myself a book as a birthday present. Britain's Pilgrim Places is a beautifully presented book  full of detailed descriptions and photos. It also has codes that let you download the trip onto a map in a phone. I've recently bought my first smartphone and this feature was a revelation. I am also a person who likes know where I am going, tend to get lost, prefer to have a map (and can manage to get lost with the map). And I love walking. A pilgrimage is a walk with a purpose. It doesn't have to be spiritual. It can. I trekked in the Himalayas and it felt profoundly spiritual, without it being a pilgrimage.

What I wanted was an inspiration for walks and this book has plenty. I have immediately found the pilgrimage nearest to me - Manchester 1 Day Pilgrimage from Eccles parish church to Manchester's cathedral. Taking advantage of the nice weather and the fact that nothing was planned last Sunday, I went for my first pilgrimage. It was great.

The book probably offers much nicer and better walks, but I enjoyed this one anyway. It was very convenient. I took the metrolink to Eccles, opened the map app and started walking. The route took me from Eccles to Salford and then to the centre of Manchester. On the way, I passed Salford Cathedral, St Mary's Church and St Ann's Church. I didn't visit any of the churches, some were closed due to the pandemic, other had a mass happening. It didn't really matter.

What mattered was that I had a chance to explore Manchester in a way I usually wouldn't. I would never decide to walk from Salford to Manchester. The walk wasn't too attractive, I have walked past industrial estates and warehouses and alongside busy roads, but I felt like I was reclaiming the city. These places often feel remote, closed. But the map told me to go and I could see there was a footpath, I took it, followed the river Irwell and made my way to familiar, busy streets of Manchester. I now feel that I know the city I live in better. When I drive or take the metrolink, I never realize how close these parts are, how well connected. I would never have thought about taking a detour to Salford Cathedral. I passed the city centre churches and the cathedral many times, but now I looked at them and connected them together. The city centre is changing fast and it is nice to see that some old buildings are still there, marking the passing time.

I've ended my weekend with a feeling of accomplishment. I've made it. It was a small pilgrimage, nothing special, but it was a start. I will find the next one soon. And the effect of a quiet walk, thinking time and time to myself was predictably good. Can't wait for the next pilgrimage.

To The Heart

 Moving through the chakras, I am working with the Anahata - the heart chakra, this month. And I feel the resistance. When I've read about it, many things resonated with me. There is more emphasis on breathing exercises and they are really good. But I've kept pushing away the physical practise. I did a simple set of postures that didn't feel as challenging.

Anahata is all about opening, acceptance, love, movement of the energy up and beyond. But I don't want to go into it. I hesitate. I don't want to think or confront my feelings right now. They are probably too messy. There are many backbends, some balancing postures, things that often make us uncomfortable. We are used to holding ourselves in a certain way. To lock in emotions and feelings, we close up. Therefore opening and reaching out can bring some emotions we didn't expect. On the physical side, my bad shoulder is meeting new limits and I like to explore it. But some boundaries are firm, not everything is possible. I think about the good old times, when that sets of postures would be done much more easily. I will get there when I am ready. In my body or in my head.

April is my favourite month. My dear child was born in April. It is a month of change and challenge. I feel it more strongly this year, maybe because the pandemic is here for second spring and this year, it is different. We are used to it. Not having a birthday party, not travelling for Easter holidays, not being around people is now normal. We are not as afraid of the virus as we were. It is still here, but we are so used to it being here, we just keep the distance, wash our hands, wear the mask... And it is the opening up, meeting people, going out about that make us worried. I went through a full scale of emotions this month. Excitement, denial, sadness. Now I am at making plans, plotting stage. I will need to see it through to action. But just seeing that I am slowly getting ready is surely a good sign.

The Value of Work

 Over a year since the first lockdown. Lots of comments on the news. We've been through a lot while staying put, haven't we? There were so many ideas during the time, especially at the beginning: about community spirit, self-improvement, learning to appreciate the little things, all noble and nice. But what have we learnt?

One of the things that was talked about a year ago was the value of home work. Something that is done in a rush, always inconvenient, offloaded to someone whenever possible or affordable. With all of us staying home, home work was not furloughed, quite the opposite, it multiplied.

I am a housewife. That is my official title. A yogini, writer, mother, sister, dog walker, photographer, knitter, artist - fancy words, but when it comes to the box ticking exercise, housewife it is. None of the things that fulfil me and make me happy bring in any income, therefore they are hobbies. I am not paid for the housework I do either. Therefore it doesn't count, it seems. But by doing it and by taking care of all the errands and child care duties I give husband the opportunity to do his job, travel, work at variable times. He supports the family. He is the person of value, he provides. What do I do?

Often, it seems like nothing. I was even introduced like that by dear husband when a new neighbour came over to meet us. 'Lucinda does nothing.' I was reminded about that old grudge of mine recently, just as we were listening to the news on the radio. They mentioned that women took on more of the housework and childcare during the lockdown. Husband commented: 'Well, more women than men were furloughed, so they weren't doing anything anyway.' Where do I start this argument, I thought to myself.

The work that goes into the creation of a home is invisible to half of the population, it seems. It is something that happens, gets done, is easy, even nothing. They only notice it when nobody is there to do it for them. Most of the work has to be planned, because for a home to run smoothly, you have to be on top of things. Shopping, cleaning, maintenance, repairs, cooking, laundry, bills, appointments, gardening..... everything has to be thought about in advance, and then it has to be done. Preferably properly, which means that nobody notices it actually happened. And therefore it becomes as invisible as a woman after her 35th birthday.

Ever since that comment, I remind husband that he is doing nothing and therefore he can do this or that. But the thing is, I don't want to do that. I don't want to keep telling him what needs to be done, why, how, when, and why I can't, or won't do it myself. It is easier to do it myself. Which he knows. And of course, he will just wait for me to do it. It is a stupid, endlessly repeated circle.

Nobody learnt the value of housework apart from the people who did it for the first time in years - professionals who could afford nannies, cleaners, dog walkers, and who supported many jobs in the same way husband supports my existence while I (apparently) daydream. The people who found themselves staying at home, working from home, and have met the second shift they forgot existed, were supposed to realize the value of house work. But did they?

I was bringing up our child with no help, there were no friends or relatives to turn to. Which was fine, we knew it would be so. But I still remember how we started the nursery after dear child was three years old. Fifteen hours a week - three morning, full day on Thursday, home on Friday. And many people asked me: 'What will you do now?' As if the time between drop off and pick up was an endless sea of work opportunities. When, true to be told, I just wanted to get the chores done without them being undone by a child crawling behind me... What can you 'do' in the small time given in the nursery year?

I admire people who started a business from the kitchen table, published a book, became influencers, studied and graduated, while having one child after another. And I salute all working mothers. But is it so bad to admit that I don't want to do laundry at ten at night, clean the house over the weekend, and shuffle child from school to club to friends for dinner, and work only to pay for the extra hours of care? When I had a baby, something I wasn't even sure would happen to me, I stayed with the baby. Because bringing up a baby takes time, so does recovery. Other issues slowed me down later, I am slowly picking up speed, but I can't remember the last day that felt free, truly free. Every day is dotted by small and big things that need to be done. The little, invisible, invaluable work. We will return to the new normal, the economy will pick up, I hope we will all do and be well. We will never forget the pandemic. But will we value the invisible jobs? Maybe when we start valuing carers, helpers, child minders, cleaners.... It will probably take a while.

Recovery

 My shoulder is slowly but surely making progress. It was frozen and had an impingement, too. Last year, I couldn't lift my arm. Now I struggle to put it behind me and up, the sort of movement you do when you fasten your bra. But I am so used to a much less elegant way of putting it on by now, and it is no longer painful. I've adapted. Last year, everything was painful...

I have a practise log in my yoga corner and a year ago, pain in shoulders was already noted quite a few times. It is a long term issue. In the log, some sets are noted by names I gave them, and they were missing for a long time. It is funny, how one problematic part influences the whole body. Even now, getting better, turning my neck isn't the same as it was before. The affected side is different. Because when one part of the body is injured, other parts compensate for it and become affected, too. And each limb is important in the whole range of motions we need in our life.

I welcome the fact that I can do some things again. Other things are a work in progress. This month, I am working with the triangle pose - Trikonasana. Not long ago, it was too difficult to even try, I felt pathetic. These days, it isn't perfect, but there is a way to it and it allows me to stretch in a weird and comfortable way. A posture that essentially comes from the hip shows how the body is connected and how the stretch and breath flows everywhere. I can see how far I can stretch, how I can position myself, what I am allowed to do safely. I can mourn the old me - effortless and flexible. But I enjoy the new me, injured and recovering, because I am getting to know me better. Some days, I notice a progress. Other days, I feel as if the stiff arm is pulling me back.

Injury is never easy and straightforward. But healing is a good process to bring new motivation, appreciation and perspective. I don't follow the physio routine that took me through the worst months very much, I am now confident in doing what I know I can do and finding the way that yoga helps and works. I wouldn't recommend it to a beginner, but a seasoned practitioner surely understands how satisfying it is to adapt something they've missed for so long and use it to feel better. I don't know when I will be fully recovered, but that's OK. As long as I don't hurt and see improvement, I don't mind.

I also try to build up strength. I had to take it easy during the injury. I did simple, gentle practise and the physio. When I started trying flowing practise such as Sun Salutations, I noticed how unused I've become to holding my own weight. These days, I can again hold a plank position without a problem. Same with Downer Dog. It was impossible last year. I've built it up over the winter months, step by step. But a shoulderstand or a headstand are still on my wish list. This side of movement - behind me or over the head - is still a work in progress. I do miss that, and the time will come that I will enjoy them again. Yoga has so much to offer in any circumstances life throws at us, it will never stop to amaze me. Namaste.

A Woman's Week

 Happy Mothers' Day. I decided to wake up and make my own breakfast. Reason one: I love a little bit of peace and quiet in the morning. Reason two: I did try to do the big 'treat me today' thing and demanded a breakfast brought in by dear family in the past, but it isn't worth it. If I have to ask for it, wait for it, and receive something that I could have done better, what is the point? If husband really wanted to spoil me, he would have made the effort. But he can't be arsed, obviously. And dear child is snotty after first week in school. So, yes, have a snooze and leave me alone.

The week started with International Women's Day and ended with mothering Sunday. And during the week we had the Meghan interview, the statistics about how women did more unpaid family work during the pandemics and lockdown, and, mostly, the sad case of Sarah Everard. To wake up on this very day and see women being handcuffed on the news is just not right. And yes, we shouldn't gather during the pandemic. But I didn't see the same strong action when (mostly) men celebrated some football title or game or something more than once.

How to get it right? I could elaborate on every single issue this week, because they all resonate and I have something to say about them. But I don't have the energy today. Last few days on Twitter, I've only read post after post of: this or that thing happened to me, and said silently: yes, me too. I saw the men reactions (not all men, more men are killed, etc) and heard their echo in my home. When these issues pop, the inevitable discussion by the dinner table is frustrating.

I've taken things for granted for so long, it is nice to see that women and girls now say: no, it isn't right. I was always told not to talk to strangers, never to go into anybody's car no matter what they say, to be careful, to try and not walk alone after dark... And I've never questioned it. When I was younger, I would never have thought to say: why don't you educate men better? Not because we blindly assumed that all men are horrible. But because we assumed that it is indeed our responsibility to prevent ourselves from meeting the bad ones. The good men were meant to be respected, not questioned, and educated. It was our business to exist in their world, basically. So yes, let's change things. Girls and women still need to be careful, same as we look before we cross a road. But I hope that we will get rid of this stupid assumption that when something bad does happen it is because we were out late, skimpily dressed and possibly drunk. That the victim is always judged first. If the victim is a woman, of course.

When I grew up and gradually learnt that happy ever after is an illusion, I've discovered a thing nobody wants to agree with: being single is great. Having a boyfriend and not living with him is even better. Freedom is good. We aren't meant to think it or say it out loud. It makes us seem weird, antisocial and antipatriarchal crazy feminists. But. There is a thin line where everything I did in one way proved me right in a sense that independence is great and women deserve it. In the other way, it made life too easy for men. Because I was so wrapped up in my independence project, but I also still somehow believed that men are important and it is my job to make them happy and respect them. So by giving them what they wanted, which is at the end of the day sex with minimum strings attached, and proudly demanding nothing in return, I was  enabling them living an easy life, using me.

Then I've met a man I cared about. And he loved me. And he was also an workaholic and my independence suited him. But I also hoped that the time came to have more and live in a serious relationship. I hoped that he will be the one I will figure out the together thing with. He made the right noises, mentioned future, even kids. The problem was that I listened. And then announced to him that I quit the pill. He was beside himself. Why would I do that? Well, how else do you make babies? Yes, he did mention children, but he meant sometimes in the future, not now. But why not now? I thought about it and realized that the right time will be never. So why not just go for it and figure it out as we go? He didn't end it, but became very careful in bed. I learnt to exist without a pill, went through a stage of absolutely horrible skin, recovered, and figured out what a real menstrual cycle feels like. I liked it and decided not to take the pill again. Then I left the man I loved because I finally, after all these years, understood that men will say whatever to get what they want, but if they really want to do something, they generally tend to do it without talking about it at length.

I could have probably stayed with the lover for a little longer and just exist, but I was over him and over it. And I have met a man who actually wanted to live with his partner and do the everyday stuff that I never figured out how to do. He is now my husband. And the together stuff is great in the beginning, but eventually you catch up and close the circle. And find out that the super sensitive and nice bloke who helps with the dishes and does the heavy lifting and catches the spiders also doesn't really listen to you, also puts his interests first, and also has flaws. But by now, as a woman, I am over it. I accept the way things are and the last solution I would try would be looking for somewhere where the grass is greener. Because it isn't. I wish I was rich enough to afford to live on my own, but I can't, and to be honest, I work hard on this home and want to keep it. And I can do things that I love doing, even if they don't make money, and it means a lot to me, that husbands is fine with a housewife with potentially lucrative hobbies that aren't lucrative. Because he is taken care off and I don't demand much of his time or attention. So everybody wins.

Where do I end? This post took me somewhere completely else than I thought it would. As a woman, I had to learn a lot to navigate the world. And I am still learning. Most of what the older generations passed on to me was useless. I hope I will pass on better things. I won't tell my daughter that certain behaviour or look will deter men. I also won't tell her that she has to be worthy of a man - somehow good enough to deserve him. I will never imply that a marriage and a family are the biggest measures of success. I will however point out the power of independence. And the right to say no to something that doesn't feel right. Even if it makes her unpopular. Because it is not her job to please everyone. I would love to tell her that we are all equal. But we are not.

About Sleeping

 What happens with sleep as life goes on? I've always found sleep important, even when I was young and restless. While in nursing school and knowing that I would do shifts, my thoughts often went to sleep. Will I catch up on it? Will the day sleep be enough? Will it ruin my health?

I've worked as a nurse and did shifts only for a few years, but it proved to be easy. I've slept great. Then life changed, I started to travel, experienced jet lag, and sleep was again on top of my list. I knew that I need to catch up in order to function, and I did. I lived at night for some years, slept in the day, it was easier than the ever changing shifts in the hospital, once I achieved a regular rhythm I was fine. In all these years, sleep wasn't an issue. Apart from planes, I could sleep anywhere. In strange beds, new bedrooms, alone, in dormitories, in tents, under the sky in nature... I would sleep easily. When tired, I would sleep twelve hours, no problem. When very tired, I would wake up refreshed in the same position I fell asleep in. These were the good years.

Slowly, lying on my front became uncomfortable and my neck would protest. Then I was pregnant and sleeping on my front was out of question anyway. I never went back to that position. With years added to my age, pillows appeared. If I didn't support my hips, I wouldn't feel comfortable on my side. Hugging a long, stuffed crocodile also helps for some unknown reason... I would say every decade brings extra pillow and more restrictions. Camping is no longer an easy adventure. I want a big tent where I can stand, big sleeping bag and the extra pillows. No more sleeping in a mummy style bag with a rolled up tracksuit top as a pillow... Otherwise I am not a happy camper!

But it isn't just physical. From the easy nodding off to dreaming a waking up, I slowly transitioned to waking up every time I turn, or waking up randomly just because, or being disturbed by either or all: husband, child, dog, wind and rain, random noise.. And my favourite: 2 am or 3 am thoughts. Sometimes you realize you are awake, but your brain is already working by the time it fully occurs. And the thoughts that come usually start with something bad, difficult, or just an idea. At the small hours, the brain is very prone to offering only bad or very bad scenarios and possibilities. While I can function very well in the every day reality and accept that many things are out of my control, when the same thoughts come in the random early waking up hours, my brain plays with them and offers catastrophe after catastrophe. And how am I supposed to go to sleep?

The quality of sleep changes with age, no matter what I do. I am wiser, practise more meditation and breathing exercises, I am rational, but sleep, the good sleep I remember, eludes me. Sometimes I think it is gone forever. I am coping. I keep up with the routine, have a dark room, avoid alcohol, caffeine, heavy food in the evening and afternoon, I do the right things. I've found things that work. I listen to a radio, podcast or an audio book before sleep or when I wake up during the night. I practise yoga nidra in the evening. I have an orthopaedic pillow. I am trying. But I miss the easy, full, rejuvenating sleep. I see my child sleeping like a log, nothing can wake her, even talking and noise. There were times when I was like that....

Half Term Bliss

 The last time I was looking forward to a school holiday was probably while I still was at school. It's nice not having to print out school work, sit with dear child, log on for school meetings and run the house around the school day.

I am ruled by the sourdough starter and the weather once again. I managed few gardening sessions, mainly heavy clearance and some planning. It will depend on my co - gardener / dear husband, so, wish me luck. He is good at nodding and saying: 'Yes, sound good,' and not so good at doing.

Will I win the war against slugs with a home-made garlic spray this year? That remains to be seen.

Editing is easy, too, it fits into my days now! And I have a free computer. Clever me, I never let dear child to bookmark favourite games on mine, husband is getting all the nagging at the moment.

I hope to finish first edit by the weekend, I've managed more than I've planned to do. I will take a break next week, go back to the school schedule and in the spare time, I will try to figure out Goodreads and social sites and, hopefully, talk to people. I am considering joining the 21st century and getting a smartphone. I didn't want to go down that rode, but an indie writer has to communicate...

The weather is getting worse, which means more screen time, less gardening time. And no family walks. Only family yoga, which is great fun.

Spring is in the air. Snowdrops are out, crocuses are catching up and the Canadian Geese are back. Everything seems more alive.

My review of Six Four by Hideo Yokoyama on Goodreads

 <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29875918-six-four" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img border="0" alt="Six Four" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1468809081l/29875918._SX98_.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29875918-six-four">Six Four</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5529932.Hideo_Yokoyama">Hideo Yokoyama</a><br/>

My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3786836868">5 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />

This was my Christmas present, something I may have overlooked in the shop myself. Glad that this story came my way. For a while, I was a little confused by the fact that most of the book happens in the corridors of the police HQ in one Japanese city. There is a lot about the way the police works, about the hierarchy and culture, so specific to Japan. It was interesting to learn. But I did think: when will he get out and when will it start happening? It isn't your typical crime fiction, with a lonely but strong detective who solves a crime. This is something else. But it sucks you in. You want to know more, you keep reading. I stopped waiting for the action and enjoyed the ride, all the details. Sometimes, I have felt a little lost, but it didn't take long to remember who is who and what their role is. The story slowly moves on towards a surprising end, it is very interesting. There isn't a clear closure, a line under the story. There is knowing about what had happened a long time ago, but when we leave the story, we don't know how it really ended. But what was the story about, too, were relationships. And even though the main character, whom I really liked and rooted for, doesn't get his own personal closure, he reaches acceptance and understanding. And he is in a better place in the end. It was a special story, I won't forget it.

<br/><br/>

<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/121125321-lucinda">View all my reviews</a>

OK, this is how it came out when prompted by Goodreads. I just wanted to try it out. Being very unwise on the technicalities, feel free to let me know how to make it better. Otherwise, let's meet on Goodreads..

A New Beginning

 I woke up yesterday feeling like drawing a full circle, starting a new one. It was the day of the New Moon. And it was the day of my birthday. A little ahead of the Moon, sometimes around the middle of the day (mother was quite sedated, can't bring the exact time to her memory, could I stop fussing about it? - sorry mum, just wondered about a horoscope...), I will be a year older.

Doesn't bother me, truly, life is a movement forward and I see it more as going in circles than in a slowly and inevitably declining line.

Year ago, the pandemic was hanging over us. It was obvious that it was coming for us (to most, not to certain PM). I was living the normal life - taking child to swim, library, or gymnastics after school. I remember that I had a cold sore (much less of it in the lockdown, even though it is winter) and my shoulders were stiff and sore. I badly needed a good massage. But I was afraid to go for one. Firstly, I struggled to find a good person who gets it just right (ever since my favourite massage therapist moved away, I only find beauticians who try their best, but don't really do a proper massage, or slightly sadist Thai ladies). Secondly, I was already worried about the virus and a close contact with a stranger who meets many people every day seemed risky. We celebrated my special day a little later, with a trip to Chester Zoo. It was mainly outside, easy to keep a distance, but still, the virus was on our mind.

Everything gradually changed. The lockdown started, the virus reached us, we lived differently, and, as I have already mentioned in another post, I liked my new lifestyle. I still do. The year rolled, we stayed healthy and together. My stiff shoulders turned into a problem on the left side and I discovered it was badly frozen and I had a impingement. I paid an online physio assessment, started with exercises, went for few treatments in person when it became possible. It bothered me a lot. I couldn't move, practise yoga the way I used to - without thinking and with ease, everything was an issue. Taking a bra off, changing curtains, lifting things, driving... Sleeping. Sleeping was hard. There was no position that felt good, every turn woke me up. With physio, balm, orthopaedic pillow and patience, I was slowly working through it. People talked and cared about the virus, my shoulder and mobility were my own little hell. Everything else was manageable.

I stopped walking the dog, taking her on the leash became impossible, and I couldn't risk her running off towards some other dogs, deer, squirrels, sheep, or people. When the world briefly opened up in the summer, I didn't feel that I could manage camping. How can I sleep in a tent when I can't figure it out in a bed with all the support I can find? I felt like a kill joy, husband wasn't amused, but what was I to do? Besides, our old budgie became unwell in the summer and I couldn't just leave him with the neighbours like we usually did when we travelled. It felt like I was doing it on purpose. Enjoying the lockdown, wanting to isolate myself even more. Who knows. It was hard. But every little improvement I could feel in the shoulder, every night I didn't wake up between 2 and 4 a.m., felt like a step forward and I repeated to myself that I matter, too. Doing everything for others and for the family is good, but I have to be well.

I did get better. My shoulder isn't there yet, but it is better, I can lift my arm, do more of yoga practise, there is progress. The budgie didn't make it, but he is at peace. We gave him quiet space and time. Getting a vet appointment was a mission, not many care for birds and everything, even an appointment for an assessment, took longer that year. We did finally secure a date, but when I saw the state he was in, I have decided to cancel the trip and leave him to it. I couldn't allow him to die of stress in transport or in stranger's hands. Our budgies aren't tame, they like their distance.

This year, I am an old hand at the lockdown, the uncertainty is gone. I knew we will not be celebrating. That's OK. I did the little things: played games with dear child, painted my nails blue, had a face mask and a nice relaxation while letting it soak in, finished the book I was reading, made chocolate truffles - it was a school project for dear child and a great way to make something special to celebrate. I don't need to go out, have a party, I am fine (slightly relieved I don't have to, to be honest). I managed to do what needed to be done and made time for a webinar on Amazon with a lovely self published writer. It was inspiring. The circle is closing behind a challenging time. Challenging in a different way than how it was for others, for most of the world. I feel better. Starting the new chapter at the New Moon (and almost at the New Year) feels like a message, turning the page, moving on, going in the right direction. All is well.

The Long Month of January

 January is a long month, isn't it? It begins all new, fresh, enthusiastic, exciting... Then you notice it is still winter. But the days are getting longer. And you start to hear the birds singing in the morning. But it is winter nevertheless. You finish all the good food and treats left over after Christmas. You maybe even try to drink less alcohol, or none at all. You may even exercise, eat differently, try to read that difficult book, learn a new skill. Anything. Because it is a new beginning, a better one.

This year, lockdown is added for a good measure. The lockdown in November didn't feel proper, the schools were open. This one is the real deal. This week was the first week that home schooling felt like a struggle. Waking up is harder, I sleep a little longer. We have a good routine, it helps, but it also makes time funny - with routine it goes faster, yet at the same time it seems to stand still. Depends on what subject we are doing. A month of explaining the logic of counting and timetables is taking its toll.... Last two weeks, I saw progress. This week I see stagnation. The child is the same, what is wrong, then?

This lockdown is like a hibernation. With the bad weather and short days, it takes lots of effort to get out of the house. I've made a point of picking up reading books on Mondays and dropping them off on Fridays. It is child's job (and mine, of course)! Even in bad weather, two walks are guaranteed.

We were lucky last weekend, there was snow and we went sledging, the whole family together. We were the first ones on the hill behind our house, the dog was running up and down with us, it was great fun. After more families arrived, I had to watch the dog and keep her with me. Sitting low on a sledge and seeing a big dog running right at you can be intimidating when you are a small child and don't know the dog... We also managed to go out and sledge one last time on Monday after school, great motivation to get things done! But the rain came back and now we are back to mud and grey skies...

January will end on Sunday, lockdown will continue. I don't mind, I only wonder why came the change in my mood. I go to bed early, try to sleep well, eat well, exercise, but the easy going rhythm from after Christmas is gone, and everything seems harder. Maybe it's the schooling. It is work, not fun. I try to make it fun, but that makes it more work... Maybe it's the hill of marketing and introducing my book to the world, it seems to get higher and higher each day... Maybe. Whatever it is, we are still lucky. We are healthy, we manage, we can do it. Even in the longest month that came after the longest year. And who knows what will happen the next week. As long as we are healthy, we are winning. Good luck to you all.

On Writing

 I am editing. Again. I have spent most of the last year editing. I started with one book - the first one I have ever written, finished, submitted, and eventually translated into English. Long project.

I was tired of the story after a while, and decided to switch to another book. A nanowrimo project, which was professionally edited. I thought it would be an easy, restful thing. It wasn't. I have found many things that didn't sit right, edited it some more, discovered Grammarly, edited again.

After that, I have felt confident. After the professional edit was done in 2017, I tried submitting the book to literary agents. I found the project daunting and discouraging. I have learnt that I don't find it easy to put myself into a clear category and compare the book with others - a way the writer is advised to look for the right agent. I settled on women's fiction and looked for agents that deal with that category. Which is many.

However, women's fiction seems to be something at the back of the list. At least in the last few years. You can write romance, there is market for that, otherwise there seem to be great interest in thrillers and crime fiction. The vague answers, or mostly non-answers, were in a sense of: not what we are looking for. As if there was a diagram of: category - topic - storyline - money. The assessment isn't about writing, it's more about what makes money right now. At least that was the impression I had. 

I didn't grow up in the UK, I can't easily categorise myself in regard of education, connections, class, history. I belong here, yet I don't. Therefore, a novel happening in Europe may not be what the agents are looking for right now. The story behind it is universal, but the framing might put them off. But I can't write what I think people want to sell, or what I believe will make the best profit. A story grows in me and I have to say it. That is how I work. It makes me a writer.

Instead of feeling beaten, I looked into self - publishing. I have spent lots of time on editing and proofreading. I didn't want to publish a book that was full of mistakes and errors. Assuming that was the hard part, I started the process of formatting. Not an easy task, too. I have learnt how to create a paperback, e - book, and a cover. It may come easy to some people, to me not so much. But I have made it. It is out, published at the end of December.

Of course, however frustrating, difficult, long and hard the process was, it was nothing. The marketing is the hill where introverts go to truly suffer (but never ever die!).

In order to not to get too frustrated, I started to edit the first book again. It was good to give it a rest. It is good to look at the text with eyes used to editing after the last year. And I hope that when I am ready to start formatting, the process will be much easier. I am a little worried about the cover, the idea in my head is probably way over my abilities. But I will figure it out.

So here I am. A writer. I can call myself that, I work on my writing every day. I am not writing anything new right now, because if I did, I wouldn't edit or promote the existing book. I have to use my resources (my resources are a budget of zero and time left after home school and house work) in a way that helps me to complete things. I resuscitated this blog in order to have some outlet for the mind. There is something addictive about the tapping of fingers on the keyboard and creating. I don't see it as a chore, it is a reward. 

I am one of many. I know I am. My inbox is overflowing with new books announcements, twitter even more so. But the readers will find me one day. And the story will be ready.

Lockdown

 I felt relieved when the lockdown was announced. Schools, like many other places, didn't seem safe to me. But yes, more work for me...

One way, it feels oddly familiar. We have a box with papers, pencils, pens, erasers and all the other things, we know how to link to various sites used by school, understand how to work with them. School is much more organised, ready to get going from day three of the term - having spent day one preparing for the return of children and day two figuring out how to do distance learning and who is attending...

But I am smarter, too. Noticing how well the habit of early morning practise made me feel during the Christmas period, I have decided to carry on with it. Instead of slow mornings, I try to get up before anyone else and have a practise before switching on the computer and finding the day's work. It does wonders. I feel good and I don't have a nagging thought about practise at the back of my head while dealing with other things.

Second thing, I try to listen to a relaxation track or a yoga nidra every evening before bed. It isn't a fully relaxed session, dear child decided to move husband to the child's room and sleeps permanently in my bed. At the moment, I tend to nod off before or alongside the child. Therefore my relaxing moment coincides with the last burst of energy stored specifically for bedtime. But I figured out that husband and child get used to the fact that I am unresponsive around 8 p.m. And a background noise is surely all about practise and focus improvement, isn't it?

Since I do the night snoring, kicking, toilet trips and early morning chats, husband can do the bedtime story while I listen to mine. I may be onto something, I wake up feeling more rested.

I don't do resolutions, January is fairly normal month for me. There is no need to push myself or to try and change everything. But building a habit of taking time for myself without feeling bad about it is surely a good one to choose if you wish to make a resolution? Or just go and do it, whatever time of the year it is. Without planning, this is happening. In a way it is good to be dropped into lockdown with few hours notice. It would have helped the schools to know about it sooner, but as a parent, I managed to simply apply these little steps without planning and overthinking them and being worried about not managing to keep it up. It is a day at a time mode here at home, but every day counts. As long as we stay healthy.

New Year Old Me

 Stepping into 2021 was nice for one single reason: snow. Nothing excites dear child more than seeing enough snow for sledging. It was great to finally unwrap the sledge we bought 2 years ago, after school was closed because of snow and we were hastily cutting off a bottom of a big plastic bucket, hoping it would make a sledge. It sort of almost did, but luckily one neighbour borrowed us the real thing.

Ready this year, we went out in style and enjoyed the white fresh snow. Now the child is disappointed every morning, because there is no more new snow...

Christmas was good. No pressure regarding visitors, no visits or trips, just us. Preparations were easy, husband was home, I could dedicate time to baking, decorating, wrapping, preparing. I am a loner. 2020 was easy for me. Facing its end in my little bubble was even easier.

Then the presents were unwrapped and the really good time started: the slump or hibernation, whatever you want to call it - the time between Christmas and new year, time when there is food in the house, no reason to go out except for a walk, enough toys and movies to occupy dear child. I can rest, think, plot, dream, indulge in things I usually try to fit in.

Yoga can be done in peace and quiet of the morning, while the rest of the house sleeps and I don't have to get dear child ready for school on time. Instead, I can lit a candle, be slow, relax at the end.

For few years now, I do a practise of 7 Fires. Every day the focus is on one chakra. With the specific energy in mind, I think about few little ideas - seeds, that I write down and use them as a direction for the next year. Through time, I started to research practise specific for each chakra, mudras, music, incense... This year, I spent time colouring images of each chakra. It was nice using pencils and playing with colours, something I used to do so much as a child. I took out glass paint and created candle holders with colours for each chakra. A little bit of craft and play, something that doesn't look perfect but it makes me happy. It adds colour and meaning to the little corner where I practise, a little space where I can have the best time by myself, practising. It is something that makes sense. Something that helps me, supports me, keeps me going. 2020 was different and hard, but I could practise every day. I was home, there were no holidays, no trips, no visitors. I used the time, deepened the practise, embraced the isolation. Instead of regret I was grateful. I still am. Teachers that were difficult to reach because of distance, time, or prices, moved online and things were more accessible.

Now I am back at editing, back by the desk, school - whether in person or online will start again, my time will be restricted, but it is fine. As long as we are healthy we will manage. I have my little seeds from the 7 Fires, a path to follow.

Happy 2021!