In a recent blog, I mentioned that I was in a minor panic after suddenly realising that
I needed to make a story character costume for World Book Day. But I may have given the wrong impression, because I
actually love being up to my elbows in papier maché! Or dirt! Or paint! Or
cake-mix!
In the spaces between writing, I like to make stuff.
I moved house a couple of years ago and no longer have a
garden. I was always more of an enthusiastic rather
than knowledgeable or skilled gardener, but I when I wasn’t writing (or
teaching or growing babies), I loved mowing the lawn, planting seeds or even
scratching the weeds from between the bricks that edged the patio. These days, arranging the odd vase of flowers, cutting a sprig of thyme or re-potting
the occasional plant for our pavement garden is the closest I
get to that sort of creative energy. It’s a lot less work, of course, and I console myself with the thought that I still get to appreciate nature every time I go for a walk.
I’m not being self-deprecating here, but I'm not exactly a great cook either. I'm never going to win Masterchef or the Great British
Bake-Off, but I am still occasionally inspired to move away from the
computer and find the time and space to make sloe gin or bake the odd batch of scones – usually when there’s
no chocolate in the house.
I also draw and paint and make collage and, er... life-sized puppets:
I guess some people might argue that all this is just procrastination,
but I think this sort of activity... this sort of creativity lifts my soul and feeds
back into my writing. I know I’m not
alone. After seeing my kitchen sink full of sodden, shredded paper, one friend
and fellow author secretly confided in
me about her passion for knitting and cross-stitch. Another has brazenly blogged
about drawing and painting. You know who you are!
