Also, I try to convince my new houseplants not to make a death pact. Again.
The book collecting hasn’t stopped and I’ve found myself with a good nine hardbacks, plus a pile reserved at the office in the charity shop that are probably going to be going home with me after my next shift. The poor things need homes and it’s not like I can be held responsible for my own acti…
(What’s that, I can be held responsible? Well heck.)
Never mind. I’m classing it as a donation to a good cause instead. That doesn’t change the fact that I’m steadily running out of room for the literature in question. As such I’ve dusted off the ageing Kobo, which might not be the fastest but saves a considerable amount of space. At the moment, I’m working my way through The Unabridged Diaries of Sylvia Plath – of particular interest to me since I studied her in college and enjoyed her poetry. Interestingly, she is buried fairly locally and I made a mini pilgrimage to the churchyard when I was photographing the nearby countryside with my then-new Canon. There’s a pot of pens next to the gravestone where visitors leave pens as a sort of token of respect – sadly I didn’t know this at the time or I’d have brought one with me to leave as a symbol of thanks for the poetry I love reading. Though knowing me, I’d have debated endlessly over which pen to leave, because while you can’t reasonably leave a 1940s Sheaffer outdoors where nobody’s going to use it, it was apparently her favourite brand of pen and would be fitting… but the best tribute would be to ink the pen up myself and get to writing something decent.
Which is somewhat difficult when you’re a routine person and that routine gets completely muddled. I used to do all my writing in the morning, with a cup of coffee. I’d get out a pen, or a typewriter, and start writing. Sometimes I’d type directly into the computer if I felt lazy. Either way, the coffee and the writing was a ritual of sorts, that’s always made it easier for me to get words on to paper, or screen. Volunteering, work and such similar duties have made that impossible, and anyway, if I want to get anywhere in a freelance career I can’t always be surrounded by optimal conditions. I’ll have to write anywhere whenever I get the time, which is what is happening now.
It’s mostly in the evening as a rule, since that’s when I’m not as busy. I’ll research, plan, draft and edit articles for the other websites I write for – these require a stricter approach than what I take to my own content. Rambling sentences have to be truncated for SEO, ease of reading and concise lines of reasoning. Sources have to be cited, reasonable arguments made. In contrast, writing for KraftyCats is much easier, though I still polish my blog articles and work on developing my style. Style’s a slippery thing that likes to go wrong if you try too hard. You have to take a soft-touch approach to it. Don’t look at style too hard or grasp it too firmly and you’ll do fine. It will run if it feels threatened…
Though I do love writing, after a long day it can feel a bit much to get a piece finished off. I know I need to, so I do it anyway, but I think that desk time is brightened up by having a few plants around. I’d acquired quite a menagerie earlier this year, all succulents, nicely potted and glowing with health. I believe I had at least five on top of the Invincible Cactus I’ve owned for about six years. That cactus has been dropped, bashed, accidentally poked and neglected in positively every way possible in its lifetime. I should have repotted it three years ago. It beams happily at me from the top shelf of my desk, apparently bearing no grudges against me whatsoever for the consistently poor treatment. I’m fond of this plant and would be rather sad if it died. It’s healthier than ever though, so it should have plenty of years left.
Unlike the other five, which suddenly and inexplicably opted out of existence for no reason in the world. I kept three on the main area of my desk, and two on top of my guitar amp. They were perfectly happy. I tended them with great care and kept them watered as needed, not too much or too little. Just over a month later and they all keeled over in the space of a week! The only explanation I can think of is that the soil, not made specially for succulents, got too compacted and suffocated the roots.
My cacti’s growing in what’s essentially a brick of something vaguely soil-like. It’s positively delighted about life in general. I wish all houseplants were so cooperative.
We’ll have to see how the new Bunny Ear cactus and the small succulent get on. Maybe, like my writing style, they need to be ignored just enough?
