So I ran away from home.
Three airports later, I sat on a bus to Valença do Minho. I looked - and felt - like a crumpled old coat discarded on the back of a chair.
I couldn't be happier.
I've arrived and here it is, my view for the coming month. Casa Luna, or Vora-city if you want, or the rabbit hole into which I am about to dive. To explain: I have escaped to Casa Luna to work, while builders rip apart the Scotland house.
A writing retreat. The writing retreat I have been dreaming of for 20 years. I loved a man (I love him still) and had two children while waiting for this writing retreat: I had a dozen jobs or more, and bought two flats and sold them, and built Casa Luna and left it behind and found it again, and travelled here and there and finally I am having it: one month of writing about an imaginary world called Vora.
So, not a big deal.
I will be writing Vora, and writing about writing Vora. Maybe it's the literary equivalent of a selfie, although writers have been recording their shufflings and visions and agonies for aeons. I want to spend a moment on this journal, and share it with my darling (see? I am working, I am, I am...); with friends who, more even than coffee, keep me writing; with strangers who might be curious; with someday-readers, some day.
Look in, if you have come this far.
Three airports later, I sat on a bus to Valença do Minho. I looked - and felt - like a crumpled old coat discarded on the back of a chair.
I couldn't be happier.
I've arrived and here it is, my view for the coming month. Casa Luna, or Vora-city if you want, or the rabbit hole into which I am about to dive. To explain: I have escaped to Casa Luna to work, while builders rip apart the Scotland house.
A writing retreat. The writing retreat I have been dreaming of for 20 years. I loved a man (I love him still) and had two children while waiting for this writing retreat: I had a dozen jobs or more, and bought two flats and sold them, and built Casa Luna and left it behind and found it again, and travelled here and there and finally I am having it: one month of writing about an imaginary world called Vora.
So, not a big deal.
I will be writing Vora, and writing about writing Vora. Maybe it's the literary equivalent of a selfie, although writers have been recording their shufflings and visions and agonies for aeons. I want to spend a moment on this journal, and share it with my darling (see? I am working, I am, I am...); with friends who, more even than coffee, keep me writing; with strangers who might be curious; with someday-readers, some day.
Look in, if you have come this far.
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