The Reclusive Writer

Should you choose to visit, you’ll be received with old-fashioned charm – ours is a simple cottage of a home, with well-worn furnishings, warmly muted walls, and a kettle always brewing.  Our clutter is a further statement of our relaxed lifestyle, welcoming you to kick back and relax.  If the weather is favourable, we’ll sit in the back, surrounded by a forest of mature trees, and the delightful sound of the many birds who feed at our offering posts.

If you’re looking for the writer, you’ll be disappointed.  She cannot be found in social spaces, shies away from sunshiny places, does not make a good hostess.

Seclusion is her home of choice.  She spends her days, nose under the throw rugs, looking for what’s been swept aside; or rustling about in back closets, turning over the unused and out-of-date; or straddling the boards in the attic, straining to ascertain new, if not precarious, angles.

It is not that she does not like company; it’s just that she is interminably introspective, has over thought her position within society, and emerged on the side of agoraphobia.

Please don’t let her lack of courtesy deter you; we are fond of visitors here, and while you will not see her, she will, no doubt, be watching you.

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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

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