Nicotiana sylvestris – with a head of slim white trumpets, exuding a powerful and sophisticated scent, beloved of moths. Tall and elegant by day, with huge green leaves displaying it’s genus; by night an ethereal flower, perfuming the darkest hours. From the first gift of seeds twenty years ago I have sown, nurtured, protected, encouraged and saved more seed, been bewitched.
And that is how it is with writing. Ideas as seeds must be saved ready to be sown. Scraps of thoughts, ideas so slim as to seem irrelevant, phrases written and stored, sentences, paragraphs, notes of events, places, people recorded for when there is a dirth, when nothing is possible, the head empty, a brain dead.
I heard Grayson Perry asked recently whether he suffers from the equivalent of writer’s block when one project is completed. No, he goes back to his sketch books for ideas and inspiration, something that was thought and noted in the past but not pursued, is worth reviewing.