People Who Inspire Me - #bloganuary

 When I first read today's prompt I read 'people that I admire' - must clean these glasses! I started to make a list of feminist icons, climate activists, strong women ... Then I looked again and saw it was inspiration rather than admiration and I stopped listing. Being an inspiration is more personal so I looked closer to home.

Jean Cartwright was one of my secondary school English teachers. I looked up to her so much. She was everything I aspired to be - stylish, poised, knowledgeable. I guess I hero-worshipped her. But the inspiring part was that she ignited a love of reading and writing in me. The way she talked about literature as if it was the most wonderful, vital part of life opened my eyes to the possibility that books could change lives, could shape who you were, could open your eyes and your mind. I developed a serious love of literature, possibly to impress Mrs Cartwright but I started to take my English lessons seriously and have continued to study and enjoy books ever since. After she was my teacher we became friends and I used to babysit her daughter. Everything about her lifestyle impressed me - her stylish home, her well stocked bookcases, her quirky little Fiat 500. For a while I wanted to be Jean Cartwright! We lost touch after I went to college and she left my old school but I often think about her and wonder where she ended up.

I'm also inspired by all the women I've met through the What I'm Writing Facebook group. They're all making their best work creatively. They've become friends and I look to them for inspiration when I start to suffer from doubt or procrastinate. Despite having busy lives, full time jobs, children and all the other baggage women carry they write and share and care and inspire. Thank you ladies, you never fail to astound me and surprise me. Keep doing what you do and never lose faith.

I Wish I Knew How To... - #bloganuary

 I flatter myself that I'm rather good with words: I can string together a sentence, make up a good character, conjure up something in the imagination. It's something I've done since childhood, invent and make up stories.  But one thing I was never any good at as a child was anything 'arty'.

I suppose as a young child I just drew and painted with abandon. Nothing seems to inhibit a child, they get stuck in, secure in their vision. It doesn't matter if the colours aren't quite right, if the legs are different lengths, if the perspective is wonky. Children revel in the process, enjoy doing it rather than overthinking everything.

I stopped doing anything vaguely 'arty' when a teacher looked at my painting of a waterfall and commented 'Well, that doesn't look very good does it? Try again.' I didn't try again, I put down my brush, washed out the palette and gave up. Looking back I can't remember what it looked like, whether it was a good waterfall or not. All I remember is what the teacher said. My confidence evaporated and never came back.

I have no skill at drawing or painting. I'm too scared that what I do will look 'wrong' so I don't even try. But I'd love to pick up a pencil or brush and capture a scene. I can do it with words but I'd love to do it visually as well. My talent with a pencil begins and ends with underlining a title. So if my wish could be granted I'd like to sketch like Laura Knight, Edward Hopper or Eric Ravilious. I'd like to paint like the Pre-Raphaelites, Joan Miro or Cezanne. I'd just like to get something that looks like what I imagined. Or even a straight line without too much wobbling!

My Favourite Childhood Toy - #bloganuary

When thinking about my childhood toys I was reminded of the many happy hours I spent with my friend Liz playing with our Sindy and Barbie dolls. We made clothes, invented lives and wondered about our futures as young women. If Sindy and Barbie could do it, so could we was our reasoning. Although I'm not sure either of us expected to have lives as varied and interesting as the ones our imaginations invented! 

But if I'm asked about the best toy I ever got I'm taken back to Christmas 1966 or 1967 when I was given a Britain's Floral Garden. For those not in the know, this was a miniature gardening set. There were baseboards with lawns, flower beds and paths; miniature buildings like greenhouses or sheds; trees and vegetable plants and so many flowers all waiting to be planted using the plastic dibber. There were tiny figures like the gardener and his wife, animals like dogs and rabbits and chickens, garden furniture like benches and bird baths. All on a tiny scale, all waiting to be created by my imagination.

I spent hundreds of hours making gardens, planting and moving plants around. My Mum loved it too and we would play with it together after my little sister had gone to bed. It was a totally immersive game, really creative and fun. All my memories of Floral Garden are happy and positive. Sadly, they stopped making it in 1970, by which time I was at secondary school and developing new interests. I have since discovered that in the early part of the 20th Century there was a lead version. 

I wish I'd kept my Floral Garden, I'd love to play with it now. It's available on eBay but to get a decent set together would be rather expensive, they're collectors items now. But it's been so lovely to wander down memory lane, remembering my favourite Christmas present and wonder why I never developed green fingers!

Leaving My Comfort Zone - #bloganuary

 I have a confession to make: I don't like leaving my comfort zone. I used to be more 'adventurous' than I am now, I guess it's all to do with getting older. But as I got older I've suffered more from anxiety and if there's one thing you can be sure of with anxiety it's that it likes a comfort zone. I like to know where I am, what my surroundings are, what will happen. All things that are incompatible with being adventurous and leaving the old comfort zone.

I also recognise that this isn't always a healthy way to live but there it is. Given the choice, I'll say no, stay where I am and let others have all the adventures they can handle. But sometimes, I grab my courage by the hand and we step out, trembling a little but determined to have some new experiences. That's how it was the first time I went on a writing retreat.

Several years ago I was invited to go to a country house for a writing retreat. I knew a couple of the women through an online writing group but we'd never met in person. Before I knew what I was doing I'd said yes and paid. 

'No chance of backing out now but you will hate it.' Oh, that's the annoying voice in the back of my head. She'll pop up now and again, pouring cold water on everything.

And I didn't back out this time. I booked travel, packed my backpack and made arrangements. Onwards!

On the coach to London, everything was fine. I enjoyed the journey, dozed a bit and nearly found myself looking forward to a weekend away. Nearly...

As I crossed London the anxiety began to kick in again. 

'What are you doing? Strangers, you don't like meeting strangers. What if they don't like you? What if they laugh at your writing? Turn round, go back home.' Recognise her? Of course, the annoying little voice.

I caught the train to a town I'd never visited before. I met the wonderful woman who ran the retreat, was hugged and welcomed. I met other lovely women with fascinating stories to tell and we laughed and wrote and drank wine and it was all wonderful.

When I finally settled on the train back to London I felt warm, happy and fulfilled. I had met my tribe and it had been ok. And the annoying little voice had been quiet all weekend. My comfort zone had a new location: a country house with good food, good company and the chance to write and share. 

I've been back there many times and met new people on each visit. The journey sometimes fills me with anxiety - does anyone ever get used to the chaos that is London? - but I'm so glad I took that first tentative step outside my comfort zone. And it taught me not to listen to the annoying little voice all the time, even if she is very persistent.