Cocooning

I can feel something new stirring away inside me. It’s not the cabbage soup I’ve eaten all week but instead the seeds of the next idea. I love this process. The unending potential of what I can work on next, writing the title, my name and the opening lines on a new Word document with the mad concept that this too could one day be a book.

I’m torn between writing about the death of a friend, the British fascists of the 1930s or a tell-all about working in a pub. Different ideas that are bumping into one another in the dark of my subconscious.

This time is the spark where ideas begin and I love feeling it gestate and grow. I’ll start writing soon but the peace between having sent something off and starting something new is a relaxant. I’m able to connect more with the day to day and not be quite as absorbed in my own shit. Maybe it’s the changing of the seasons or something like that.

In a rare moment of spirituality, I was at a yoga class on Wednesday and the yogi told us this was the period where we come out of our cocoons and begin to see the changes in the world. While, on the grander scale, things don’t look so great, is there talks of a WWIII again? In my oily bubble, everything is bright.