“I thought the most beautiful thing in the world must be shadow, the million moving shapes and cul-de-sacs of shadow. There was shadow in bureau drawers and closets and suitcases, and shadow under houses and trees and stones, and shadow at the back of people's eyes and smiles, and shadow, miles and miles and miles of it, on the night side of the earth.” —Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
Author’s Note: Happy Gemini Season! Enjoy this month’s diary entry!
May, the month of my birth. This is despite my abhorrence for the spring and summer months: I am a fall and winter gal at heart. I’ve loved the macabre since I was little, first picking up Tim Burton’s spooky poetry collection, The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy and Other Stories when I was seven years old.
I really got back in touch with my spiritual side this month. I’ve always been invested in the paranormal, Wicca, crystals, and other such things. I have had plenty paranormal experiences, the weirdest being the silhouette of a witch that three of us saw disappear into a flash of light. I’ve been tapped on the back by ghosts before.
I watched Devs, the series by Alex Garland, and it had me questioning my entire life. The concept of determinism is fascinating to me. In Devs, a lot of literature is shown / referenced, such as Yeats and Larkin. This creates an added level of depth. I’m back on my sci-fi kick at the moment. Growing up, my Dad introduced his love of space. We saw every sci-fi film in the cinemas, watched sci-fi at home on the projector screen we had, and read sci-fi books.
I came to a crossroads with my writing. I went through a large block, ultimately deciding to take a break. As I want to read at least thirty books this year, I scoured my Audible library and blasted through a few. Reading has become so competitive with the rise of booktube. At the end of every year, people post all the hundreds of books they claim to have read. On StoryGraph, you can alter your goals, but I fear if I change it, I will feel under pressure. I’m very close to hitting my goal anyway, and I honestly think I’m happy with thirty books. It will definitely end up being more by the end of 2024.
As someone who doesn’t get out much, the philosophy of enjoying the little things is appealing. If I’m not up to writing one day, I look forward to finding an interesting documentary to watch. I watched the recent John Betjeman documentaries on BBC Four. I adore hearing poets and writers talk about their art. Just the experience of waking up to the day knowing I’m going to enjoy a book brings just a small amount of joy.
Speaking of joy, I have been toying with the idea of writing for pleasure. When I first wanted to be a writer, I thought it was SO fun. I could create these imaginary worlds where the rules were mine to make. In the last few years, I have lost my capacity for pleasure. I don’t hate writing at all, but I wouldn’t say I’m having fun either. This is why I decided to play with writing fantasy. Fantasy was what I used to read as a child, but as I got older, I sought out more intellectually stimulating material.
Currently, I’ve been planning out an absurdist short story. I’m having fun with it, and it’s a little experiment because I have never planned out my stories. This time, I am writing detailed notes, such as my character’s background, heritage, likes and dislikes, and other things that won’t make it into the story. The purpose of doing all of this is to shape your 2D template into a 3D character you can almost touch. YouTube videos about story outlines makes up most of the media I have been consuming. Patience is something I’ve been practising: the thing I sorely lack. I always crave immediate success, immediate results. I’m trying to take my time with this short story to maximise the fun. I must remind myself that Rome wasn’t built in a day.
May 28:
It’s my birthday. Aunty P sends over some old photographs, as is custom on any birthday in our family.
When I look at these photographs, I feel a pang of longing for the person I used to be. While I grew up and gained knowledge and experience, I lost the nature of play. What is most heartbreaking is that I broke the promise to myself. I vowed to stay magical no matter what awful things may happen. I fear that everything I do has my burgeoning career as a backdrop.
“The 'good old times' - all times when old are good.” —Lord Byron
If what Byron says is true, then every moment (good and bad) is capable of being subject to that bitter pang of yearning. This makes one wonder about the ethics and intricacies of our concept of truth in our own bodies.
Mum goes out to collect the custom cake she has ordered for me. When she returns, I am astonished at the level of detail. Surprisingly, it only cost £70. For such a cake, you normally expect a price of £150>.
The one thing they got wrong is the affectionate name my mother has given me since birth: flossy. As she does every year, mum plays Stevie Wonder’s Happy Birthday. She gives me my card and we sit down for a cup of tea, taking a book off the cake and revelling in the rich cream.
Nana sings down the phone to me, albeit broken up by poor signal, and I reply to every good wish on Facebook. Each year older is like trying on a new suit: you may try to squeeze into it as the new year begins, but it won’t feel right until the very day of your birth, right down to the minute. I was born at precisely 7:15am on the 28th of May 1997. I am Wednesday’s child, full of woe.
A few weeks ago, I found out I’m going to be an older sister. My days of being an only child had crumbled into dust. This is how I came to reconcile states of play. I had been rediscovering children’s books such as The Wizard of Oz, Peter Pan, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, and a little later on, The Tale of Tales. This child is going to discover the joys of Literature, just like I did.
As I've started work on my book, I've found the enjoyment of writing decrease a little too. I try to write a poem or short story every month as a way of falling back in love with it, and it seems to be helping. Oh, and Happy birthday :)