Eking commas.

The pigeons are especially raucous today. I see them sprawling and brawling in the air as I drive down to the seafront, past all the folks bundled up in layers of wool and cotton in differing shades of black and navy, waiting for their usual bus which, as usual, is late. I think with these Writing Hour sessions I have booked in every few mornings at 7:30am, I'll be starting off with a blog post. It's a nice way to settle in and reactivate my creative mind while also reflecting on what's been going on, for me, in my world, in the past week or so. 

Photo by Shakeb Tawheed.

Today I'm noticing a lot of commas eking their way into my writing. I can also feel the story I'm writing peering at me from behind this Blogger tab, patiently waiting as it has done for the past five years; I can see Buckhurst Road with all its brown blocks of flats and potholes, graciously offering me four hours of free parking if I can just get my head straight and find my characters' hearts and voices again. 

Social media has been a bugbear of mine this week. I always loved the word 'bugbear'. It sounds equal parts adorable and irritating. I'm going through a bit of a process mentally after one of the busiest weeks spent in various places and with all my different hats on; the 30-something clarity I kept hearing about before my birthday last year seems to be finally kicking in and my bullshit barometer is icing over and shattering. I'm rejigging and reformulating, and it's seeming like social media is taking up too much of my valuable headspace, so it's gotta go. Well, not GO, but take a backseat at least. So if you found me through my silly little platforms where I put all my energy into shouting down wormholes and then whimper and moan because I'm only reaching a couple thousand people, welcome. I am not thrusting this happy place of mine - my 'little corner of the internet', as I called it when I was a teenager in the Learning Cafe at college - into anyone's faces quite like I used to. I used to schedule tweets with links! Can you believe! No, these days I'd prefer for people to stumble upon it and settle in, like a community garden with uncomplicated trellis constructions and compost bins that aren't locked. 

I went to a vegan place in East London this week just gone, with a date. We split a collection of small plates, tried each other's cocktails and shot pickle backs. I found myself wondering what would have happened if I'd properly tried, if I'd followed that dream I had all those years ago to move to the big smoke and share a modest place and a tube of toothpaste with a couple of friends. Would I be out every evening at places like this? I saw a few other pubs and bars as I walked from Hackney Central to Cambridge Heath, would any of them have been my local, in another life? And only now I peek at the places on Google maps do I realise, the new site of the Vagina Museum was just down the road! How funny. Maybe I'll go back in the daytime soon, when I fancy a gander at historic vulvas before grabbing a ch*ck'n burger for lunch. 

I'm interviewing people this week for a local magazine. Another thing I'd have loved to do way back when, in my Rory Gilmore era. I'm not sure what era I'm in now. Sure, I'll be the same age as season 1 Lorelai soon, but I'm actually already starting to identify more with Emily. I think she would have seen through the social media smokescreen too, and also wanted a man with a skincare routine. 

Right, I can't ignore them any more. I'm going to devote the last 20 minutes of this Writing Hour to my ghost story. I call it that mostly because it doesn't exist yet, after years of haunting me - but also, because it's got ghosts in it. 

Chat soon.

G. x