The gift of time

And so it begins: page one, chapter one. New books and new writing and new adventures. It is such a generous gift to be invited here and to go to find some soft and gentle days spent writing and dreaming and walking and reading and swimming and feeding your courage and inspiration. What more could you ask for, but space and time with beautiful people, no small talk, big conversations, big skies and big trees, forever seas? I have been so happy and loved every minute of my time here.

Taking time, making time: observing the moment, the birdsong, the butterfly, the cat and the crow. The softest green grass underfoot, the owls hooting to each other across the forest and smudges of green starry Northern Lights above. Then making that first page, taking a moment now to remember all the hard work that comes after you commit, and recalling how it feels to begin a new project: all the fear and all the possibilities and potential, all the angles, all the ways to fall in love again, to say something new. Then you remember all the places it might take you, all the sacrifices you’ll have to make, all the hours it will take, all the fighting you will have to do, all the miles, all the weeks, all the bravery and heartbreak, all the tears and laughter, all the new friends it will take you to, all the new places you might see, all that it will teach you. To write a whole new book is to begin again and learn something new about yourself, to discover hidden parts, to find something lost and to say something new in a new way.

There is nothing like the first 1,000 or so words, those first voices, the wild ideas and unfiltered dialogue scribbled into notebooks. It is this moment that shapes what you will do next, and for the rest of your life, what you will obsess over and zoom into and how you will hyper focus. The determination you will reclaim. How you will empty and collapse, how you will soar and fly, how you will live and thrive. Then what new habits arise, what you will eat and drink or give up or take up (or not), what you will listen to and think about, what colours and melodies and textures and flavours will call to you. Having a brand-new idea is shiny and easy, but writing it down, taking your time, experimenting, allowing yourself to get it wrong, exploring the avenues and energies and being kind to yourself, beginning again, is much more difficult.

Making books: it is extraordinary work, it changes everything, it changes a person. Books take a lifetime, sometimes it hurts, sometimes it is hard, and sometimes it is just like taking a big breath, a leap of faith, running and jumping into ice cold water and swimming like your life depends on it, because it does, and at Galloway House, I’m remembering all of that.

Salena Godden

Salena Godden is one of Britain’s best-loved and foremost poets, whose electrifying live performances have earned her a devoted following.