The last few weeks have felt very small in some ways, because when we turn inwards, when social contact dries up like water spilt in the sun, when the majority of variation in our lives disappears almost overnight, the everyday is now everyday differently, and large plans are replaced by more modestly-sized ones, like noticing a piece of hedgerow in bloom, or hanging out laundry in a light breeze several days in a row. These days make it searingly obvious, what matters and what doesn't, how wrong we are about so many things, or how much we can care about others, more than politicians say is possible.
It is very important, I think and know, to move gently through this time, not to berate or bemoan or wonder what might have been, arms thrown into the air. The elegance of too-yellow dandelions are a good substitute for crosswalks, we should be sitting looking out of our windows marvelling with open mouths at how much better the rest of the natural world is breathing now the we have stopped rushing about all over the place, and try to remember that as and when we begin to move.
(It is perfect, I hum to myself while hanging out washing on the line with horribly-coloured clothes pegs, the trees are turning ferocious greens, small birds feel safe enough to stay awhile.)
WORK-RELATED NEWS:
Things I am working on in these peculiar hours include two essays of a longer nature for publication in places, the continuation of my secret collaborative project, planning some changes for the newsletter and also for my wider 'online presence', small freelance commissions, a couple of overdue revisions for my first book Lost in Translation, and the slow but necessary thinking required to shape new book* plans.
*It is impossible to know how the publishing industry will or will not be changed by this sweep of virus, and as such I cannot in any way assume that an idea of mine will be acquired in the same way as before, or simply as before. It is more important than ever to create work that untangles or lays bare, that consoles or shakes-up—there is not time any more to make books that do not ask the right and good questions, that do not speak truthfully and beautifully, so I want to ensure that when and if I embark on another, it has something important to say, that it is worth both the time and the trees.
A NOT-COMPULSORY QUESTION:
My spontaneous and unexpectedly lengthy Q&A on Instagram this week has unearthed a few things in terms of what people would like to see and read about, both in the newsletter and elsewhere.
My question to you, reader, is whether or not there are particular topics or slices or informations you would like to see in this newsletter. Content, for want of a softer word (I do not much like the word content in the context of the world wide overflowing web). For example, things raised in the Q&A included my favoured books, authors I would recommend for someone who has enjoyed my own work, the creative process, etc.
If anything should come to mind, please do reply to this mailing.
THIS WEEK I FELL IN LOVE WITH:
Photographs by Emma Hardy, who seems to be able to catch people being people, and moments being moments, in a way that very few can.
I am reading six books at once, the only way of reading; since, as you will agree, one book is only a single unaccompanied note, and to get the full sound, one needs ten others at the same time.
Virginia Woolf, The Letters of Virginia Woolf: Volume Three, 1923-1928
(I think this is wonderful, and at times have several books opened, but do enjoy most sinking into one book only and losing sight of myself, not reappearing again until the whole is demolished.)
Copyright © 2020 Ella Frances Sanders, All rights reserved.