Cloud Sailor

2012-02-05T10:00:00.015Z

After watching the new Sherlock Holmes film at the cinema, I felt an overwhelming urge to draw him. What do you think? I am painfully aware of its many, many errors: the eyes, the nose, the jaw structure, the hair, the shading, etc... drawing is one of those things that I'm very shy about, but this is one of my better attempts. It looks better if you click on it and view the larger version. I wish I could draw portraits that look perfectly life-like; perhaps I should enrol on a course. (Here is the original photograph, by the way.)

Ps, I entered the fantastic giveaway over at Where the Wild Roses Grow. Wish me luck! I really want to win this one.

2012-01-30T16:59:00.005Z

Thank you to everyone who participated in my 2012 giveaway.
Photographed above is the method I used to randomly select the winner. Ah, I always knew that garishly gothic Hallowe'en ornament would serve some greater purpose.
The winner is Melee - congratulations!

2012-01-26T10:59:00.003Z

A few things to add to last year's love letter: light-filled hallways, laughter in unexpected places, hand shadows by torchlight (like the Baudelaires), afternoon naps, sitting on warm windowsills, shimmering trees, kindled clouds and impromptu everythings.
What can I say; I'm an idealist at heart.

2012-01-18T01:02:00.002Z

"Have a great number of threads been interwoven in this lecture? Which thread should I pull on to find the end in my hand? There is the thread that connects the moon, Leopardi, Newton, gravitation and levitation. There is the thread of Lucretius, atomism, Cavalcanti's philosophy of love, Renaissance magic, Cyrano. Then there is the thread of writing as a metaphor of the powder-fine substance of the world. For Lucretius, letters were atoms in contiual motion, creating the most diverse words and sounds by means of their permutations." (Six Memos for the Next Millenium, Italo Calvino)

2012-01-10T13:27:00.016Z

(Click on the image to make it larger.)
I am very happy to announce my annual giveaway. This is in celebration of my blog's 2nd birthday, and also to say a grand merci to all my beautiful readers. One lucky winner will receive everything pictured above (except the bunting - which is only added for decorative purposes), including:
Piglet's Little Book of Bravery
Vintage-style hairbow
Oscar Wilde fridge magnet
Rose-scented soap with natural ingredients
Handmade (by me) paper goodies
PLUS lots of other trinkets and treasures (not pictured).
To enter, simply leave a comment in this post.
I will randomly select a winner at the end of the month.
Good luck to you!
The giveaway is now closed.
Thank you to everyone who entered.

2012-01-09T18:26:00.010Z

Stars
As night comes
I stand on the stairs listening,
stars are swarming in the garden
and I stand in the dark.
Listen, a star fell with a ting!
Don't step on the grass with bare feet:
my garden is full of shards.
(Edith Södergran)

I am the luckiest person in the world. ♥

2011-12-31T13:06:00.004Z

End-of-Year Epiphany
I remember now what matters to me and what doesn’t, what I care about and what others care about, what the meaning of life used to be - although I don’t remember when it stopped being that. Several hundred details cascading like rainfall. Or perhaps I should say snowfall? (We'll see if January will be as generous as it was this year.) Here's my most important finding: I can’t keep up with anything but myself; I never could and I never will. Happy new year.

2011-12-20T22:38:00.014Z

Sometimes, I get this terrible sinking feeling in my stomach, like someone’s dropped an anchor inside me, and everything slows down, and nothing looks familiar, not even my own blank spaces, and it feels a little bit like being thirsty, but it's deeper than that, I don't know what I'm thirsty for, and I wish it would leave me alone, that's all.

2011-12-12T14:18:00.019Z

"Nature of the theatrical illusion; everything you see is false." (The Cabinet of Edgar Allan Poe, Angela Carter) We could say that life is a theatrical illusion (and we wonder who came up with the damn plot, and why the script is so badly written), and therefore ~~nothing is real~~. But that can't be right - I need something to hold on to.

2011-12-04T18:21:00.015Z

(Time for me to hibernate.)
I want to be white light, too bright for human eyes to see.

Thank you very much to everyone who replied to my previous post. This is tremendously exciting. I will tell you more about it soon.

2011-11-23T09:36:00.014Z

Remembering halcyon summers.
Thinking of how things could have been.

Ps, I'm thinking of starting an online magazine. Would anyone be interested in submitting to it? I'm looking for short stories, poetry and artwork. I've wanted to do this for A Very Long Time, but now I'm tired of dreaming and would rather just get on with it.

2011-11-14T08:43:00.020Z

My favourite things (Oct - Nov 2011)
Novel-writing
The new series of BBC Merlin
Florence + the Machine's new album
Buying little trinkets for my January giveaway
Oh Comely magazine - "Keep your curiosity sacred"
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer
House of Leaves by Mark Z Danielewski
A fireworks display on a cold evening
Baylor, the Great Bear of the North
The promise of snow
A mysterious key

2011-11-07T15:28:00.006Z

I captured the rising sun.
It shivered in my palm.

2011-10-31T12:50:00.046Z

NaNoWriMo begins tomorrow! (That's National Novel Writing Month, for those of you who don't know.) The aim is to write a 50,000 word novel by the end of November. I have known about it for years, but I never had the courage or the time to attempt it. This year, in my quest to take more risks, I have decided to participate. I've spent the last few days writing pages of notes, because the worst case scenario for me would be running out of ideas and not knowing where to go with the story. Is anyone else taking part in this year's NaNo? If so, feel free to add me as a writing buddy - and good luck to you.

2011-10-21T10:26:00.035+01:00

Notes from a sleepless midnight:
1. It all comes down to Not-Knowing.
2. "I am scared that nothing is real."
3. It's funny (well, not really) how I am never honest with myself.
5. "These days, she can't even walk past a stranger in the street without her lungs collapsing. It's tragic, really."
6. I am writing a short story titled The Bearded Lady. She is destined to be miserable forever.
7. I'm afraid I have forgotten how to write happy endings.
9. I can't sleep I can't sleep I can't I can't can't can't can't can't -
10. I'm exhausted.

2011-10-12T16:15:00.016+01:00

All is well. Better than well, in fact. Extraordinarily well.
I hope all of you are well, too.

2011-10-04T11:20:00.032+01:00

(Barely-there ghosts and shy dust particles.)

2011-09-17T00:28:00.021+01:00

"This is what your thoughts would look like, if a bright-eyed scientist came along and plucked them out of your mind before you had even thought them. Neurons sparkling in nerve canals, a hundred golden threads of light stitching your secrets to the frayed fabric of the universe. You see, the bigger your dreams, the smaller their chances of getting lost, up there, in the ether." (Note to self: preferred qualities of future husband: no. 37: quantum physicist.)

2011-09-09T12:05:00.027+01:00

A realisation. Some songs taste like nostalgia & summer & countless sunday mornings spent waiting for the rain to stop. (Those were the best of times.) The wind has been rattling my bones like a xylophone. The air smells of tired trees and wistful fingertips. Currently, I am: drinking honey in hot water; reading Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children; dreaming of venetian gondolas. Sometimes, life is better viewed through closed eyelids, or at the very least, through a third-person perspective. "If all else fails, buy a telescope and become a hermit in a mountain cave." It's tempting, I must admit.

2011-08-30T10:33:00.026+01:00

Fleeting (adj.) - migrating birds, unsent letters, late summer thunderstorms. You see, all the stories in my head have tragic endings.

2011-08-22T23:40:00.022+01:00

A Brief History of Everything
Listening to songs about sailor boys, playing cards in a raggedy circle on the floor (all four of us, like we used to), joking and laughing into the night, meeting old friends in a French café, giving six boxes of books to a charity shop, stealing words and hiding them in my shoe for later, writing stories by torchlight, midnight snacking on a handful of seeds and a pocketful of berries, feeling a little bit like a bird, aching in the place where my heart should be. And skywatching, of course. Endless, hopeless amounts of skywatching.

2011-08-14T22:39:00.021+01:00

No more hauntings or hiding-under-duvets.
"I am a brave bear."

2011-07-30T10:10:00.044+01:00

Observational notes: how deceptive time can be. Days and nights are melting. Children's laughter, music in the distance, philosophising at 11pm. Must stop counting heartbeats (yours, not mine) and start paying attention to the insides of diaries (mine, not yours). I've been told that thoughts are petals - "but what does that make memories?" I asked the clouds; they didn't answer.

2011-07-18T11:09:00.014+01:00

"'And if beauty is terror,' said Julian, 'then what is desire? We think we have many desires, but in fact we have only one. What is it?'
'To live,' said Camilla.
'To live forever,' said Bunny, chin cupped in palm."
(The Secret History, Donna Tartt)

2011-07-06T21:40:00.018+01:00

Today, I made my very own universe.
Complete with stars and moons and unfathomable mysteries.

Ps, could you recommend me some happy songs?

2011-06-21T22:08:00.015+01:00

"So tell me, children. What did you learn at school today?"
"We discovered the meaning of life, and how to cheat death.
Would you like us to tell you?"
"No thank you, children. I already know."

2011-06-11T22:22:00.016+01:00

I've never been good with lingering sadnesses.
Surrounded by ghosts and bruised knees, etc.
Can't keep hold of my shadow anymore.
(Ps, "Leavemealone" x3.)

2011-05-26T15:10:00.025+01:00

The weather has been unsettled, and so have I. The old toymaker (the one who feels sorry for all the right reasons) visited me in my dream, last night. He told me that the sky is capable of keeping secrets, but it will weep at the sad ones. There is still so much that I have to learn. Wish I could unlock a door in my chest and step into a world where hearts were rose-shaped; mine would bloom with every heartbeat, instead of constantly wilting.

2011-05-20T18:48:00.014+01:00

"At the age of eleven she wrote her first story - a foolish affair, imitative of half a dozen folk tales and lacking, she realised later, that vital knowingness about the ways of the world which compels a reader's respect. But this first clumsy attempt showed her that the imagination itself was a source of secrets: once she had begun a story, no one could be told. Pretending in words was too tentative, too vulnerable, too embarrassing to let anyone know."
(Atonement, Ian McEwan)

2011-05-10T00:54:00.021+01:00

Discarded words make me feel too much. All those lost thoughts, buried deep in waste paper baskets, scrunched up on diary pages, whispered across the dark into each other's hair, laughter stifled in pillows, secrets shared and kept and spilt over the floor like runny honey. Luckily, I don't have much time for thinking, these days. I am now an official record-keeper of the clouds. By the way, did you notice that cumulonimbus over there? It looked just like a fairytale.

2011-04-25T10:44:00.016+01:00

Symptoms: restlessness, sleepless dreaming, lack of inspiration, obsessive book hording, sullenness, unresponsive when spoken to, staring out of windows, watching cloudless skies for signs of rain.
Diagnosis: change of heart.
Remedy: to disappear.
(Goodbye.)

2011-04-05T16:20:00.047+01:00

The moon is crumbling, tonight.
(Ps, don't forget: "tangled hair and fallen eyelashes".)

2011-03-23T00:02:00.035Z

Dreaming my March days away in the Hundred Acre Wood.

2011-03-14T23:08:00.019Z

Wish there was a crescent moon in my bedroom,
hanging from the ceiling like a
eureka moment.

2011-03-03T15:03:00.056Z

2am, fallen
books, exposed
skeletons, secret
melodies, lonely
ghosts, lungbirds

trapped

in ribcages, poetic
nothings, half-
forgotten mustn't-
forgets -

2011-02-18T19:52:00.046Z

"Everything is an illusion, you see?" he said to me.
But it had seemed so real, that feeling of being crushed beneath the colours in the sky.

2011-02-07T21:50:00.027Z

Remembering the slow trickle of time down my spine.

2011-01-27T11:57:00.032Z

I miss golden afternoons, bare feet hidden in long grass, poems scribbled on the back of my hand, lovehearts carved into rosepetals, daisychain necklaces, letters written in invisible ink, long evening walks, powdery pink-and-lilac sunsets, bird orchestras at 8pm, two scoops of vanilla ice cream, lavender scented night-times, mothwing lullabies, velvet-eyed dreaming in the silence before dawn, and that feeling of always being safe, and in love.

2011-01-21T09:32:00.028Z

There is a place in the clouds where summer never sleeps. That is where I'm going, with birds and balloons tucked under my arms. I've promised Tiber I won't come home until I have enough sunshine to fill the entire house. Oh, and mustn't forget to buy four lemons and a pocketful of sugar, for the lemonade. (We are planning a Winter-banishing party. You are invited, of course.)

2011-01-17T10:03:00.019Z

Don't want to be a timid bearcub forever. P is teaching me how to roar.
All aboard the good ship Courage, which won't ever stop once it sets sail. Books (check), heart (check), bandages - just in case (check). Farewell letters stamped and sent (check).
I always knew a life on the sea was the life for me.

2011-01-12T14:57:00.050Z

The secret beauty of bookshelves. A volume of fairytales that I've owned since I was three (my first ever book). A Winnie the Pooh anthology. An illustrated astronomy guide. And, of course, Mr Snicket's entire collected works documenting the lives of the Baudelaire children. I have been thinking lately that everything would be more interesting disguised as a book. Burnt toast, empty vases, knitted jumpers, locked doors - all stories waiting to be discovered.

2010-12-22T09:33:00.039Z

I am a collector. I horde all manner of things in my trinket box: fallen feathers, forlorn stones, lonely seashells, lost buttons. And stars. My collection of stars is remarkable. I reach out of my window every night and catch them as they float down to earth. You see, everything I collect once belonged somewhere, but has long since been misplaced. (Like me.) Sometimes, the loneliness is unbearable.

2010-12-04T19:35:00.047Z

The first snow came. Everything makes me feel exhausted, even thinking. Been thinking far too much lately, about frozen ballerinas and shivering butterflies, and the icicles hanging from my bedroom ceiling. (Slowly becoming an ice queen, I am.)
I unfolded my star atlas today and memorised the names of all my favourite constellations. Let me see, there's Ursa Major, Monoceros, Draco, Pegasus, Centaurus, Eridanus, Ophiuchus, Hydra, Orion, Scorpius, Perseus, Andromeda...
I wish I could live in the sky.

2010-11-22T10:47:00.032Z

I'm sorry. I spent days picking the stars out of my hair, and even then the glitter glued my eyelids together. Couldn't stop myself dreaming, despite all your warnings. Shouldn't have dipped my fingertips in sugar. You see, when everything is too sweet, bitterness comes seeping in through the cracks.

2010-11-10T13:26:00.025Z

Been thinking a lot about transience and impermanence. About how nothing will last forever, not even my most treasured memories. Caramel-stained cheeks and lost coat buttons, letters half-written and abandoned, stuffed into school satchels, folded into notebooks.
I am going to build a huge paper castle in the middle of a paper forest, where paper royalty dances at grand balls: paper kisses, paper glass slippers, paper midnights, paper farewells, the sound of paper hearts ripping. I will be safe there, I think, hidden behind glowing white walls and rustling trees.

2010-10-20T08:51:00.040+01:00

Mornings taste sweeter, evenings glow like burning books, nights are ink and velvet. I never did find the edge of the map, despite tracing its lines and creases back and forth with my fingertips. Perhaps the professor was right: perhaps some mysteries aren't meant to be solved. (I hope so.) Collecting fallen leaves and remembering how to say goodbye. The Russian circus came to town: acrobats and magicians with names like Valerik and Popazov.
I wanted to run away with them.

2010-10-04T11:54:00.036+01:00

Scattering stars over blank pages,
searching for stories that have never been told.

2010-09-28T13:14:00.046+01:00

I am not the same person I used to be. Fragments of me have been scattered and lost, leaving me in pieces. (Falling apart.) All my fears consumed me, you see. Consumed me until there was nothing left but hollow bones that crack in the moonlight. Finding solace in shades of grey. Everything is essentially darkness, once you take away the light.

2010-09-22T14:11:00.050+01:00

Went skywatching again.
(Got lost again.)

2010-09-15T13:26:00.054+01:00

Tiber has found a friend. I am secretly relieved, because I sometimes wondered if he felt lonely while I was busy with my family or studying. Her name is Madame Florentine and she has travelled all over the world. They get along swimmingly; I don't think I've ever seen him in such high spirits.

2010-09-07T18:50:00.028+01:00

Skeleton fingers dipped in ink, unlocking old chests and finding weary hearts inside. I left fingerprints all over the garden gate. Found a phial of phoenix tears among the rosebeds; I have placed it on my shelf, next to the jar of broken wishes.

2010-08-29T23:33:00.018+01:00

I know a place where even the ghosts die.

2010-08-20T10:20:00.015+01:00

Dead men keep their secrets and their fascinations.

2010-08-16T17:36:00.022+01:00

Everywhere I look, I see magic.
Don't tell me you can't see it too.

2010-06-20T00:56:00.028+01:00

There are lots and lots of stories piling up inside my brain, and it is so nice to feel inspired again. I haven't felt like this for years. I am imagining characters so real, they are actually living inside the cavities of my skull, talking and sleeping and dreaming, always dreaming. I read The Graveyard Book and I loved it. I am currently reading The Mysterious Benedict Society and I am enjoying it immensely. Next I will read The Spiderwick Chronicles, which I have been wanting to read for years. There is nothing so comforting in all the world as a good book.

2010-06-13T00:21:00.026+01:00

I have discovered something amazing.
If you stand under a canopy of tall trees and look up, you will see the entire universe. Right there among the bright leaves and forked branches, you will see constellations, galaxies, supernovas, black holes.
They are the universe trees.
I could stare up at those starry leaves for hours, contemplating the cosmos, dreaming of Titan (my long lost love).
Even the smallest things can be magic, really.

2010-06-02T23:52:00.012+01:00

And the clouds still swirl for me.
I can't help feeling that, somewhere, time has stood still.
The air is heavy and my heartbeat is slow.
I wonder what it all means: if it means anything at all.

2010-06-01T13:29:00.015+01:00

This is Tiberius Septimus, a descendant of the dragons.
He is very old and very wise.
When he is not snoozing in my pocket, he likes to sit in my palm and feel the wind rustling his papery wings.
I talk to him about everything; he gives me advice.

2010-05-24T16:56:00.017+01:00

For my niece.

2010-05-10T13:36:00.019+01:00

Bon printemps.

2010-05-06T20:09:00.018+01:00

Proof that I still exist.

2010-05-03T12:34:00.043+01:00

I would walk on the clouds, if I could reach them.

2010-04-29T13:01:00.016+01:00

"I was running through a forest."

2010-04-26T13:40:00.026+01:00

Some girls dream of being princesses in castles.

2010-04-22T20:46:00.079+01:00

Callooh, callay!
I have returned from my adventures in distant lands.
I met a ladybird under a dandelion who told me where to find a grizzly bear who was once a sailor and now spends every waking moment polishing his brass compass with a cherry-coloured twist of silk.
Every evening, I would bring him warm honey, and he would sit in his creaking chair and tell me stories of the sea.
We are great friends now, that old bear and I.

2010-03-17T01:20:00.044Z

I am taking a break from the internet. I need to hide up a tree and reconnect with my wildheart.
Goodbye.

2010-02-15T10:55:00.022Z

Through the soft cobwebs of sleep, Theodore mumbled, "Is there a reason why I can't go in the sunlight?"
Papa thought for a moment. "I don't know," he admitted. "I think it is something to do with the pain in your heart. But listen, my boy, you mustn't ever be ashamed of being different from other people."
Theodore yawned and rolled onto his side. "I'm not ashamed, Papa. I was just wondering why."

2010-02-02T11:39:00.016Z

I am the fourth Baudelaire orphan, the one nobody ever talks about, the one even Olaf is afraid of. How do you think Mr Snicket learnt so many secrets about my siblings' lives? It was me; I told him everything, in exchange for a warm meal and a false identity. It is a very convincing false identity, I must say.

2010-01-28T13:35:00.020Z

I want to see the dark side of the world.
To meet strange people, scholars and anarchists, visionaries. People who don't care about anything or anyone, people who never laugh or talk or cry. People who love me and hurt me, who slide their fingers around my throat and kill me.

2010-01-27T14:11:00.020Z

Today the sky is gloomy and wonderful.
Grey is one of my favourite colours. I own a lot of grey things: a beloved grey notebook, grey boots, grey gloves, and grey matter, lots of grey matter.
In fact, I am a collector of antique grey matter, the wisdom of dead writers whose words make me shiver.

2010-01-18T09:00:00.050Z

"She had been right. The world was a terrible place, cruel, pitiless, dark as a bad dream. Not a good place to live in. Only in books could you find pity, comfort, happiness - and love. Books loved anyone who opened them, they gave you security and friendship and didn't ask anything in return, they never went away, never, not even when you treated them badly." (Inkheart, Cornelia Funke)

2010-01-09T16:58:00.030Z

"There's nothing unusual about me. I wear the same clothes as everyone else. I see the right films, read the right books, listen to the right music. I ought to fit in, but somehow I still don't. The problem is me: I just don't match. I'm the wrong shape, somehow, the wrong colour. I like the wrong books. I watch the wrong films in secret. I'm different, whether they like it or not, and I don't see why I should pretend otherwise. But it's hard when everyone else has friends. And it's hard when people only ever really like you when you're being someone else." (The Lollipop Shoes, Joanne Harris)

2010-01-06T11:56:00.027Z

The Mermaid's Secret is my new blog.
It is a blog of hope and despair and everything that comes in between.
I hope you can understand.