…or writing lessons from a grasshopper
Welcome to my new blog! Thank you Patty from www.monkeypawcreative.com for the fabulous author branding and all your help. I’ve been working hard on the sequel to The Treeman (called The River Girl), but I’ve been resting from the blogging until I could launch this new site.
Mm-mmm, a new blog and determinedly marching on through the indie author world, head held high and full of hope – just like a grasshopper.
What was that? A grasshopper? Really?
One very handsome grasshopper anyway – called Clifton. An acquaintance during the last days of summer here in the UK (…that one sunny day?). We met as I drove home from a neighbouring town, in a busy street called Cliftonville…remarkably apt as that’s where Clifton hales from. He kindly alighted on my windscreen, lolloping as though he’d had a beer. Or three. Charming tho’, in a long-legged green kind of way. Probably not one to take home to mom and unlikely to pay for dinner, but very attentive.
As we reached the junction, Clifton wandered out of sight. Hey-ho, I thought. Ta-ta and have a nice flight (…yes, I looked it up, they can fly).
Reaching home , I emerged to find the plucky grasshopper still clinging to the car roof. Impressed by his tenacity I locked the door, but on straightening, my heart twisted slightly. Eyeing me up was our friendly garden robin, in the vain hope I might offer dessert. No little green adventurer, but one full and very contented birdy.
Ah, the wily ways of destiny. Should I rejoice that I had delivered a good feed to our glorious red-breasted robin or regret that grasshoppers have ambition? Soul searching questions as I enjoyed my own supper (relieved that, as a rule, I don’t tend to feast on locusts).
The next day, I returned to Cliftonville and thought fondly of the sassy Clifton. And suddenly, there he was on the screen. Waggling his butt in a cheeky victory dance. Yeah, okay. Maybe this was his brother, Colin. Maybe my original green friend was indeed robin food. But before you write him off, I beg you to forgive the soft musings of a romantic. I want to believe he endured to return home with glories to chirrup to his clan.
Should I ever get disheartened with the ups and downs of indie publishing, I will remember Clifton’s bravery. Because sometimes it takes a grasshopper to remind an author of the greatest lesson of all. That it’s okay to take a break. Because, only through stepping away from the screen and looking outwards do you find new stories to tell.