My novel To Catch a Moon has now spent a hot and bothersome summer out in the world. Releasing a book is like throwing a stone into a sea, you let it go and it just lands wherever it lands. Whether it sinks to the bottom of the ocean, not to be disturbed for the next century or floats off with the tide is no longer up to you. What does control that mysterious movement, however, is unclear.
I take comfort in this aspect of writing and creating from who else but Remedios Varo herself. She endured long years of not being able to make her work, through political instability, exile and financial precarity, so when she finally got to settle and create the images that had been swirling around her imagination for so long she was more concerned about the paintings just existing than their reception in the world. So I think of her when I think of the readers the novel might or might not be reaching, as well as when I fail, again, to sit down at my computer to chip away at xmy work in progress. With a new baby, a toddler and the seemingly unending parade of admin and household tasks tugging at my attention, I’m not the first and I won’t be the last writer to wonder where my muse went and if she’s coming back.
So, as the baby grows and this unpredictable winter approaches, I’ll be settling in - wearing a thick jumper against the political winds and chills - to try to coax my muse back from wherever she’s been hiding or resting, hoping against hope that something’s been secretly writing about ballet, bells and the fae world (the subjects of my next novel) behind my back.