This month marks the fifth birthday of the publication of my first novel, The Diary of Isabella M Smugge. I made her up as a joke for a blog I wrote in April 2020, sick of people on Instagram banging on about baking banana bread, living their best lives, making memories and doing Joe Wicks every morning. There was a point when I was publishing four blogs a month. I was rarely stuck for ideas. Fifty-four years of life experience and obsessive reading had filled up the header tank in my brain to the very brim.
Every so often, however, a strange thing would happen. I’d start writing the blog and a few days before it was due, I would realise that it wasn’t the one I should be publishing. Sometimes, I’d find myself writing it late in the night, hours before it was due to go out, but I could always tell it was the right thing to do because the words flowed, almost without thought.
That’s what happened today. I had half written a funny blog about my experiences on the road which just wasn’t working. A seasoned procrastinator (my tax return is also due and I’ve still got seven and a half chapters left to write of Issy 5), I decided to take a break and wash my gilet.
Stick with me. I know this sounds bizarre.
I love that gilet. Throw it over any outfit and it immediately confers a sense of elegance. It’s got pockets too. It’s been looking a bit sad and grimy of late, and checking the washing instructions, I found that it was hand-wash only. I started rooting through the cupboard under the sink for the hand-washing liquid I believed to be there. In the process I found:
1. Three half-used boxes of Calgon tablets.
2. Two bottles of drain cleaner.
3. Multiple sponges for washing up.
4. Ditto cloths.
5. Four pairs of rubber gloves.
6. Vast quantities of dishwasher tablets and rinse aid.
7. £10,000 in used twenties (OK, I made that up).
8. Quite a lot of random products for removing stains from things.
Of the handwashing liquid, however, there was no sign.
I was delighted to find the Calgon. We live in a hard water area and I was running out. I descaled the kettle, handwashed the gilet, tidied up and rationalised the cupboard and was left with a feeling of great satisfaction.
As I was scrubbing away at my beloved furry garment, I remembered something a wise friend once said to me when I was struggling with writer’s block on my third Issy novel.
“You’ve dropped some things on the floor, Ruth, but it’s time to pick them back up and have a look at them.”
She was right. I’d written a whole storyline about a Sixties pop group (the Do Wells) and even penned some songs for them, but none of it fitted into the plot of my second book. I put all the information in a file on my computer and forgot about it. As it turned out, it was perfect for book three and I was delighted to find a whole chunk of ready written content to drop into the novel, where it belonged.
It’s wet and miserable today. I had made a list of things I had to buy, including Calgon and washing up sponges, but I wasn’t relishing the notion of splashing out through the mud to the car and going shopping for boring things. Now I don’t have to. I had much more in my cupboard than I realised.
We writers love a good metaphor, and there it is. January is a time of horrible weather, tax return trauma and long, dark nights. It can really affect one’s creative output. But there is more stored away than we realise, and sometimes it’s good to have a clear out and see what’s hidden in the dark recesses of our cupboards and our minds.
What’s in your cupboard?
Images from Pixabay