heavy in my mind like a ripe pear

“As for my next book, I won’t write it till it has grown heavy in my mind like a ripe pear; pendant, gravid, asking to be cut or it will fall.” - Virginia Woolf

My PhD novel has been growing heavy in my mind for nearly 20 years.

Its shape has shifted, then shifted again. Then again. And then again once more.

I think it’s ready, asking, to be cut now. But if instead it falls from the branch it has clung to for all these years, I hope it lands in a pile of soft dry grass, where it will be safe from the hungry parrots who have been feasting on fruit still on the trees. Where it isn’t left too long to be picked up, still fine to eat, with perhaps only a tiny bruise or two from the fall to be cut away.

Worse case scenario, maybe it will be scooped up with all the other windfalls and be made into a lovely crumble.

I lit my first fire in the house last week. Picked figs, rhubarb, runner beans, iron-rich greens so dark they are almost ink-black. Made yoghurt. Failed at making yoghurt. Wrote and wrote, deleted, despaired, then wrote again.

The pear will be cut, or it will fall.

an uphill finish

I felt like doing a vlog in my office today. I’m trying to be more spontaneous and less self-conscious and perfectionist about what I post on here, so instead of doing my usual thing of leaving it on my phone and never sharing it, I thought I’d be brave instead. Brave is my word for 2024, after all.

Enjoy!

• video transcript

  Hello, and welcome to my office! Here’s my inspiration wall behind me. I just feel like doing a video today just to break my brain out of its creative rut. Do you like my T-shirt? (laughs) Mario Kart is my favourite way to unwind at the moment in between all of this PhD-related overwhelm.

  I just wanted to record, for posterity more than anything, because I just had a very insightful conversation with my wonderful husband who just gets all of the ups and downs of this journey. I am in the final months of my PhD and it's been a long, long couple of years bringing this project to its conclusion and I thought I was just about there with it. I thought, you know, to apply my oft-repeated marathon metaphor because it's the closest experience that I've had in my life that even comes close to what the PhD has been like, so to just milk that metaphor a little bit more, I thought I was going to have a downhill finish to this race. It was certainly looking that way.

  And then a few weeks ago, it was suggested to me that perhaps I needed to change a few things, a few fundamental things, about my thesis. And they are exciting changes that overall will improve the argument and strengthen it and just make the whole thing work a bit better, which is obviously something I'm very keen to do. But it will involve quite a bit more work at almost literally the 11th hour. And so it looks like I'm going to have an uphill finish to this marathon rather than a downhill one.

  And when Tom said that, all of a sudden I could understand why I was feeling so exhausted! Because I have run the intellectual equivalent of 24 miles and I was ready for an easy finish. But instead, the last two miles are going to be uphill all the way.

  And that is life, sometimes. Sometimes we get an uphill finish when we'd rather have a downhill one. But if you've trained, and if you stay strong ,you can get through it.

  So, wish me luck as I proceed…uphill!

the writer's garden

"The soil is warming. We gardeners grow ever more watchful, sniffing the air as excitedly as beagles, peering into the vegetation to detect those first thrilling signs of life. Is that a distance haze of green? Wait: did you hear birdsong? At long long last, after months of enforced dormancy, we tell ourselves it might be time to begin." - Charlotte Mendelson, "Rhapsody in Green"

The last weekend in March, I planted early potatoes. A week later, the rhubarb we'd given up for dead did a Jesus and came back to life, the blueberry bush began sprouting green leaves and the cherry tree exploded in pink blossoms.

Tom and I went out for a run and came back to a generous bag of horse manure on the front step, gift of our mechanic, also a keen gardener who told me rhubarb loves horse manure and he had a reliable local source.

My packets of seeds have been out on the bench for the last few weekends, waiting for the right, ripe moment to sow as April marches into May.

As Charlotte Mendelson writes in her lovely book of essays, this is such a nice time of year to be a gardener - a time where hope triumphs over experience, where we sow and are thrilled by the potential, like applying for a job we really want - you send your CV off, put the seed in the ground, and for a while, anything can happen. It's a lovely feeling.

Today I planted french beans and courgettes (zucchini), and there is a tomato plant on my kitchen windowsill. The cherry blossoms are falling and fading, to make way for the green leaves and fruit. The potatoes are thriving. The rhubarb is Trump-like in its determination to beat all the odds and completely take over. 

I love my garden. I hope it will be an abundant year, in every sense.