Hi, it’s me.
I have the key – it took some finding. It was buried deep in the bottom of a box, hidden under redundant cables, old wallets, screws, batteries, bulbs and other things that men keep forever. It was masked by that misty substance that are our memories.
As I sit in the heat of the Spanish sun with the key in my hand, it feels cool, even in the blazing heat of the day and I remember why we stopped taking the clock to Juan the clock mender. Our house is up in the hills, which gives it access to sublime views of both Malaga city and coast back dropped by the mountains. What you don’t see are the cement quarries which are our neighbours. There is no noise, no heavy vehicles, no intrusion on our lovely home at all, except for the dust.
Juan, who always reminds me of a Spanish Geppetto, is an old-fashioned and proper clock mender. After a couple of swift visits with the clock soon after moving here, he announced that we were living in the wrong environment for the clock. The old workings and mechanisms would not put up with the daily intrusion of dust that we cannot avoid.
The clock has remained on the mantel piece, a figurehead with no substance, its magical chimes silenced. But I have the key.
With the key in hand I have flirted with the doors to the Writers World, I simply know that the key will fit the lock but I am still unsure of what will await me behind the doors or if I am strong enough to face it. But with the key close by I have resumed my writing.
I faced the files that are the evidence of the year’s obsession and selected one story to review, edit and submit for publication. This was emotional in the extreme but I faced it and am proud of the resulting submission. I have set myself a timetable, allotting a minimum two hours for writing each day and a space set aside for reading. I hope that in this way I will gradually come back to the NOVEL.
With a plan in place and the key close by I found some of the old sense of inspiration and completed a first draft of the new story that had come to me whilst in England languishing in the comfort and familiarity of my “sloppy joe” shirt. I entered the zone and for a brief period of time was consumed and lost in the make-believe world of my story.
Maybe knowing I have the key is enough?
Maybe I was back in the Writers World?
Enjoy and be happy.