So, Where Were We? Coffee, Phone Notes and July

Lovely readers, it's been a little while. I fully intended to keep the blog ticking over through July, but life had other ideas. I had a lovely week away with my family, then headed straight off on a fortnight with the Scouts, with a few bits of work squeezed into the gaps in between. Since I've been back, it's been straight into my freelance work, Stewed Rhubarb Press events and catching up on everything that politely waited for me while I was away. Well, almost everything.

The nice thing about a longer break away from the desk for a while is that you come back to it feeling a bit different. I’ve not really rested, it’s been action packed, but on the whole, that’s not what I needed. What I need and got is a proper change of scene, stepping out of my routine, a few good belly laughs, and above all, quality time with my family. With a notebook, or more accurately my phone notes, full of half-formed ideas that seemed important enough to scribble down before they escaped.

The writing doesn't really stop, even when I'm not actively writing. My phone is now full of scraps of dialogue, odd phrases, tiny observations, ideas for poems, blog posts that exist only as titles, and the beginnings of stories that don't yet know where they're going. Some of them will come to nothing. Others will quietly grow legs over the next few months. That's usually how it works for me. I'm forever collecting little bits of the world and seeing what sticks.

My lovely writer friend, and former Stirling Makar, Laura Fyfe, once described writers as magpies, always picking up shiny things for later. From conversations overheard in a café, landscapes seen from a train window, surprising sights. Often it isn't the place that stays with me at all, it's the feeling of being there and the ability to see things afresh, whether away or when I get back.

Over the past couple of weeks I've been back into my inbox as a freelancer, and of course with Stewed Rhubarb Press, catching up with writers, audiences and all the familiar faces that make Scotland's literary scene feel surprisingly small in the nicest possible way. After spending so much time on my own with novels, poems and admin, it's a reminder that books only really come alive once they find readers.

Speaking of finding readers… Grit and Flesh, my debut pamphlets, have been out in the world for the best part of two months now too. After carrying those poems around for years, it's been such a pleasure hearing from people who've read them. Thank you to everyone who's sent me a message or been in touch for a chat. I honestly never get tired of hearing how the poems have landed with people. Last weekend, one of them was selected for Poem of the Week in the Scotsman on Saturday. So, I’m starting to think about where they might travel next.

I'd really like to organise a few more events over the coming months, small evenings of poetry, conversation and readings. If you run a book group, a literary festival, a library programme, a community venue or simply know somewhere that enjoys poetry, I'd love to hear from you. Independent poetry finds its readers one conversation at a time, and I'd be delighted to bring Grit and Flesh to new places.

I'm also wondering about running a handful of workshops later in the year. Editing poetry, finding your voice, submissions, perhaps even balancing writing with the general chaos of everyday life. I haven't quite decided yet. If that's something you'd be interested in, let me know. It would be lovely to shape them around what people actually want rather than what I imagine they might need.

So that's me, home again, laptop open, coffee in hand, trying to make sense of several weeks' worth of notes that seemed incredibly profound at the time and now include things like "blue fence?", "crow with chip" and "abrupt industrial?".