Notes from a life

IMG_9386 copyI have many notebooks. My current favourite are large – A4 with green end papers and lined pages in between. They come from Japan. Once every few months, my step-father makes a phone call to a Japanese friend who buys them in Tokyo, wraps them up nicely and posts them to the UK.

Today, I decided to send a question to the universe. I have taped a small envelope to the wall in the northernmost corner of my house. I will let it rest there and will think about something else.

Time will pass. New work will be done. A new book to research and write. But, here, my latest notebook stares up at me. Sometimes it is good to look back, to reflect, to acknowledge where you were at any given time and how far you have come. This notebook has a mixture of notes about my latest novel, now complete, shopping lists, and personal thoughts and feelings. Here are a few of them.

We spin around and around until we are quite dizzy. The Breach. The Hollow. Breaking down. Jumping out of time.

Question: Will she choose new love? A must: read through for a week. Focus. Main things are: Make the question of marriage central. Give Jonathan an interest in food (mint and lime crème anglaise; salted chocolate Grenache; chardonnay pearls; pale and baby pink lips).

Clarity. Tooth. Decay. Gherkins. Salad dressing. Teriyaki.

Dilemma: Ted stands behind her and they meet eyes, and she wonders. No. She says. No. No. No. Action over tolerance. Ted: ‘In my wildest dreams, I’d like to see the whole place erode.’

‘You never jump,’ Isobel’s mantra. ‘It’s too dangerous.’

The sea’s wrecking strength. Sea salt dried around her eyes. Ted says: I don’t think I love her.

Don’t wake up the kitten. Until the tapping on glass. To understand and be understood. To say absolutely anything. To find the strength to let go of a need to control. Then comes power. My body shocked with electricity.

Dissolve the calcification around my heart.

The sky steep and black with rain.

Swimming into the wild.

The wind tore at our words.

Death: being completely inside your own head.

Life: the world.

2 Comments Add yours

  1. kendraolson says:

    Thanks for sharing this. I love discovering notebook jottings and reflecting on where I was at the time those jottings were made. Writing by hand feels so much freer and more natural than writing on a computer too–not that I always stick to it; my handwriting is atrocious.

    1. lilydunn says:

      My handwriting isn’t too legible, either, but it’s legible to me – my own private language at times – and that’s all that matters. I’ve written in notebooks since I could write and can’t imagine life without it. It’s a kind of record of time, isn’t it? It would take me years to go through all that I’ve ever recorded, but what a record it is. Thanks for reading.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s