Magic after the madness

Life lately, also known as magical post-first-draft madness:

Waking up!
Forgetting and realising again first draft is finished!
Remembering the joy of books!
For pleasure!
Reading! 
Stories!
Yellowed pages!
Book smell!
Aren’t they THE GREATEST!
Justifiable exclamation mark overuse!

When your family (blood and chosen) surprises you with You Finished Your First Draft presents and you can’t believe they exist; them or their magically meaningful gifts (a quill-wielding dame riding a peacock and pressed flowers are deeply relevant to life right now).

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Rainy afternoon views from daydreaming headquarters (read: endlessly tolerant cafe that allows me to lurk about on their comfiest couch for hours, listening to their soul-nourishing indie folk playlist, all for the price of a pot of mint tea). Dark autumnal days. Yellow leaves floating through the air like confetti. The wind howls. Feeling very smug and snug in our fluffy socks and beanies with tea and a view of the changing, moody sky from our comfy couch by the window. There was a unicycle-riding lion print on the wall beside us. Some days it’s all about the little things.

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On my afternoon wanderings, I’ve begun to suspect Manchester’s autumn puddles might possess the same kind of otherworldly magic as Mary Poppins’ chalk drawings.

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Re-engaging with the world outside of my writing office. Something I love about Manchester’s spirit as a city is its stubborn willingness to have a good time in the face of heavy, sideways, fat, skinny, soft and needling rain. We found this little potting shed on a dark and weepy day in the Northern Quarter this week, one of many pop up stalls in a new autumn street market. The delight and surprise of discovering it amidst the gloom brightened every face I saw pass by. It certainly made tearing myself away from the heater at my writing desk to climb into my wet weather gear worthwhile. Those little lemon trees, especially.

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Here’s to stubborn willingness, and finding room somewhere today for things to grow.

 

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