Voices from the Grave

Well, here we are on my new, relaunched blog. I hope you like it. I'm not going to be writing creatively here unless I feel it is appropriate but I will be thinking out loud creatively, if you know what I mean. Neither will I be boring you with the details of what's been going on because I'm sure that if you really want to know, you know where to find me! I'm hoping to be a little more reflective than that and when that isn't possible for whatever reason, I will be posting images of what's going on around and about, just things I find interesting. So, you'll probably learn more about me by seeing what fascinates me than if I told you what we had for breakfast. Or it might give you something to think about, I hope. The reason for this change of direction is not one of paranoia about my privacy (I'm not actually that interesting) but purely mercenary. My writing style is rooted in the domesticity of modern life and as such, if I want to get published other than on a blog, I should be a little more discerning about where I write. For example, my dog, Monty's voice is woven into my novel and 'his' blogging has been a great help in developing his voice but it does present a problem should I approach a publisher. I know that he was particularly appreciated so have no fear, he will still be writing but he's going to be saving it all up!

Anyway, enough writing about writing! Or is it? Yesterday, I went to sit in the graveyard at St Mary's Church in Horsham. It was quite noisy not from the dead people but with children's voices from the local school, passing trains, an aeroplane, cars and not to mention birdsong. I can only assume that the graves are soundproofed; either that or some very restless spirits must be in residence. I went there to do a bit of quiet reflection and maybe some writing. I sat on a bench and watched and listened. The bench's proximity to the church in this town centre location made me think about perspective and scale. The church steeple seemed to loom angularly, hence the diagonal image which was otherwise difficult to capture. It was as if it was struggling to escape the grasp of my gaze, growing up frantically into the sky like a magic beanstalk. It wasn't why I went there at all but I got some great ideas for my novel, much of which is devoted to the idea of perspective and the smallness of things.