There are some mornings when the world is suddenly sharper, the senses heightened and all clear in the mind, every leaf sharply focussed, every scent evocative. I find these perfect days often correspond to the weather; when an autumn morning feels exactly like I subconsciously believe an autumn morning should feel, everything feels correspondingly perfect, pregnant with potential, dripping with the excitement of life and — crucially — the joy of a creative life at that.

Today is one of those days, which perhaps is no surprise, seeing as how I’ve been trying to reach this point for a wee while now. I have altered my routine in minor ways, editing my habits with tiny snips hither and thither, moving my brain into that place where the work flows. Today, these tweaks seem to have worked and I think it is thanks to the weather, that final catalyst I was awaiting, a gentle push into the part of my mind that has rested itself for a month or two. And rest is essential.

See that hill in the right foreground? I’ve spent a quantity of this year nestled neatly, out of view here on the southern slopes, surrounded by all things good and joyous. I am also beginning to realise that: A) I need to start using a proper camera again and, B) One cannot ever really get the correct sense of scale in the mountains. The higher you go, the smaller it all looks.

So, my friends, here we are. As I write this, I have ten days left in Europe, before I voyage eastward once more — as this is published, eight. I still have yet to release the works I promised earlier this summer, time and life have done as they will and — you know what? — I no longer worry too much about that. Living in the present, enjoying the moments like today, is something that keeps my rebellious brain from descending downward. Those stories are much closer to publication (expect news in the coming weeks), but I know they’ll be out there, with you, precisely when they need to be.

Likewise, I no longer apologise for time-between-posts. Life has been lived, stories and thoughts brewing and brewed. Fermentation is an important part of writing and art — and it should not be something you ever say sorry for.

After the glorious weather of yesterday, mentioned earlier, today it rained hard. Then, in the evening as I put the finishing touches to this post before queueing, the skies cleared, with sporadic cloud-flow above and below, such as this. The mountains are like Scotland and the seas, ever-changing and deliciously dangerous.

As a part of my personal minor-brain-habit-edit, I have been pondering the Things to Come, and how to share them. I have thoughts on these, on the use of twitter, for example, as well as newsletters and other places — including this site. In short, I’d like to own my content, thank you very much. I’d also like to share this content in better ways — or indeed, in ways — seeing as I have been increasingly silent here and there, partly due to life, as I mentioned, and partly due to the noise of the UK B-word and the US T-word.

There is always a danger that the good can be drowned out and the downward spiral set in. Time to stop that 1, to share things that bring a smile, that raise a sense of wonder and interest, small vignettes of our world, thoughts that are raw, words that are polished, images that tantalise and, dare I say it, things that matter. There’s enough darkness out there without me ignoring my own ability to share the light.

Here is a recent attempt to share the good…
…and another. The tale of why I am using this account and not @ButaWriter will follow soon.
  1. Stop it, that is, unless it’s the NIN album, in which case, play on.