I’m moving house
It’s always a traumatic time, especially when changing
locations.
We will be leaving this:
It’s all to do with circumstances. Life changes and we have
to accommodate those changes as best we can. Consequently, we will be moving
from rural Wales to the bustle of South East England.
There are problems, the most obvious being cost. Houses are much
more expensive there. Our new house will be half the size and twice the cost.
Financially, it will be tough and that’s a worry, but it’s not the biggest
worry.
My friends and relations promise me that our perfect house
is out there. But we like quirky, odd, different, weird and fascinating. As
yet, we’ve not found it, but neither have we sold and so that is not my biggest
worry either.
I will sorely miss the dear friends who have shared the last
dozen years with us, but we shall be returning to old friends who have stayed
close in spirit even though we have been one hundred and fifty miles apart, and
so that it not my biggest worry either.
What I spend my time fretting about is inspiration. I fear it
will not come to me in the town like it does in the country. Right now, I am surrounded
by fields, horses, sheep, wild life and endless, eternal, sublime tranquillity.
In the town I will hear traffic, people and all the turmoil that
accompanies life. I won’t hear owls hooting at night nor sheep contentedly
chewing by day. I won’t have the farmer passing my gate with a happy, ‘Hello,’ nor
will I be eating newly laid eggs.
How will I survive?
The answer is, of course, I will. The contents of my writing
room will be transported to a new, if smaller, room and icloud will still be
holding all my stories and story ideas. But will I be happy? If I am not happy,
will I be able to write? And if I am unable to write, what will become of me?
Supposing my muse stays among the trees and the lush green
hills. Supposing I arrive at my new home bereft of the basic inspiration that
makes getting up in the morning so exciting, that fills my waking hours with
meaning and interest.
The summers here are idyllic, the winters magical. Will that
enchantment desert me?
And so here I am sitting at my computer, catching glimpses of the foals playing opposite and listening to the wind rustling the leaves. The cows drowsily call to one another and my stomach churns with fear that the characters I have created out here will not come to me over there.
It’s silly to worry. After all, it can take years to sell a
house. But we’ve been very happy here and I’ve been very creative and…
Big, deep sigh.
I’m moving house.
