I used to find books the perfect salve for an anxious mind

But then I tried to write one

Reading

I have a very specific superpower, which is not so much super as terrible and not so much a power as a weakness. I can take any calm and peaceful situation and make it stressful; idyllic walk in nature - I imagine getting lost and never being able to find my way home; watching the ocean - I become petrified of drowning; getting a massage - I worry there’s going to be an emergency and I’m going to have to run on to the streets in my underwear. So while long coastal walks ending with a massage are not necessarily good ways for me to relax, I used to find the idea of looking through books to be the perfect salve for my anxious mind. Until I tried to write one.

Now I cannot look at a book in the same way again.

I can’t help but imagine the work that went into it, the reading, the learning of the craft, the time, the tears, the part of the author that’s been sacrificed to produce these words on a page. I imagine those who struggled to get published and those who published and then realised life was still the same but there was a book out there with a little piece of them in it.

I look at the shelves in bookshops and libraries and can’t help but imagine the lives of the people who sat at their desks and made words into sentences, sentences into stories, meaning out of nothing. And without even reading a word I am overwhelmed by the process of writing and publication. Every book has more than the story inside it, it also has a bit of the author embedded in it. So, when I am looking at books and I see a book by someone I know, that book carries extra weight.

Back in the olden days when Twitter was not a dumpster fire and blogging was like breathing, I found my tribe amidst a lot of very smart, funny and creative people. One of them was

Imbi Neeme

, known then as Not Drowning, Mothering.  She had a blog, I had a blog, she was on Twitter I was on Twitter, she was a fast and funny writer, I was in awe.

Kind of, Sort of, Maybe, But Probably Not sounds like the way I answer most questions, but instead it is a beautifully quirky novel  about a lonely, young woman with misophonia and a growing pile of postcards sent to her home but not addressed to her. The story is set in the 1990’s and the absence of social media and internet is not so much quaint as refreshing. As the story progresses we meet new characters, find out old secrets and learn about finding the place we fit in.

It is a book about friendship and fear, and secrets and the way we cover them up. It’s got a young feel to it (but that could just be because I have been reading a lot of books about menopausal women - like here and here) and the characters in this book aren’t close to menopause but they are flawed and fantastic and very easy to like.

I’m glad I spotted Imbi’s name on the bookshelf, it’s good to be able to picture the person who sat down and gave so much of themselves for my reading pleasure.

Feeling Felt

amandarosekeller

A post shared by @amandarosekeller

Talking of olden days (my segues show no signs of improvement)  I saw this on Amanda Keller’s instagram and it immediately took me back too many years to calculate - I had this exact set. I’m not going to try and put rose coloured glasses on my fuzzy felt experience because I remember struggling with the tiny pieces of felt that were sometimes very hard to pick up without them sticking to your fingers . But seeing the image feels me with a nostalgic sentimentality that I would never usually confer on felt. I hope it does the same for you.

Eating

Still insisting on adding a bit of food to my susbtack every time I post… I discovered

Lee Tran Lam

while I was studying Creative Writing, she’s a food writer but she’s also just a brilliant writer. Anyway she posted a picture of a chip butty on her stories recently and I have been able to think of very little since then. The chip butty is the dream food of a carb lover, I think I could even order mine with a side of rice - I’m THAT kind of carb lover. I can’t post her story but I found the same chip butty on another account.

howac

A post shared by @howac

Finally - something I can look at and not feel anxious. Just hungry.

Thanks for reading my very random thoughts. Who knew you’d sign up for fuzzy felt and hot chips? I think I’m finding my very niche market - until next week when I come up with something equally random and meaningless.