On Wednesdays.

On Wednesdays we probably wear pink, and we write.

I have mentioned previously that I have turned my Wednesdays into somewhat of a ritual. I sleep as late as I feel like. I get up at 06:30 during the working, week so sleeping late for me means around 08:30. I get up, make a pot of tea and faithfully write three morning pages as prescribed by our lord and saviour Julia Cameron. I scroll through social media for a bit, maybe I appease the Duolingo owl. Then I get myself dressed.

On Wednesdays I take more care over my outfits. When I work from home I wear whatever is lying around. When I go to the office I wear corporate appropriate. But on Wednesday I dress for me and only me. I get to put together an exciting ensemble. I love getting dressed up, it’s my favourite. And I don’t believe in saving anything for a special occasion. Being alive is the special occasion. On Wednesdays it is highly likely I will wear pink, but that is true every day. Take that Mean Girls.

Once dressed fabulously and usually weather appropriately I take myself out for coffee. Some days I accidentally dress for the weather I want rather than the weather we have. Today is one of those days. I optimistically omitted a thick woolly buffer. The sunny weekend got me all excited and I left behind that crucial layer like a moulting cat. I regretted it almost instantly. But when you live on the third floor you either commit to your choices or you get really toned thighs, and being innately stubborn as a person my thighs are going to feel the lack rather than me admit my conviction was misplaced.

This week I had a dental appointment first, but I still went for my usual coffee with notebook and self. Usually I am very disciplined and get stuck right in to the promised task. Today I was a distracted flake. There I was, looking at Instagram and researching novel writing software on my phone when I glanced up. Sitting opposite me a girl. In front of her a matching coffee and almond croissant. Open in front of her a notebook. In her hand and holding her attention? Her phone.

I wondered was she like me? A writer, craving success and dreaming of being a full time author, come to a coffee shop to write and getting distracted? Maybe she is a very successful author already, she could have four published novels and she’s working on her fifth. Maybe she is a student, taking notes for a future essay. Maybe she’s just thinking about getting a patio installed at home and she’s getting some quotes. I can only speculate.

But I know what I am. I am a writer. And I need to go home and write. I need to start getting my novels out of my head and putting them on the page. I need to carve out a time and place to write fiction and commit to it as I have with my Substack. I am capable of this. I believe in myself.

I am trying recently to wield the power of my anxiety and make it work in my favour. My anxious thoughts are incredibly inventive. I can run multiple scenarios of imaginary catastrophes in mere seconds with very little provocation, I mostly don’t even realise I am doing it. If only this was a transferable skill I could slap onto my CV. But if I could redirect the power of that imagination into crafting the required sentences for my novels... Well maybe I would fucking finish one of them.

So this piece then is somewhat of a manifesto, in the wake of my 41st birthday. I promised myself last year when I turned 40 I would really start taking my writing seriously. I have done that. I have made time to write, I have started and devotedly continued this Substack. I have done research and I have outlined a draft of what I hope will be my first completed novel. I am taking a moment of recognition for that, and outlining my next intentions: more time to write, more articles, less time thinking about and more time actually writing fiction.

This is a manifesto but it is also a spell. I believe that words are spells and writing is very powerful. I believe in the power of intention, I believe in magic and I believe in manifestation. I believe we are all connected and that we have the power to tap into the universe, or god or a higher power. I don’t think it really matters what we call it, I think these things are all the same. I do not believe in organised religion or doctrine, and I do not believe in a patriarchal all seeing, all judging God with a capital G.

I know that many people are sceptical of my beliefs and would happily ridicule them and try to disprove them. That’s ok with me, it does not affect my day. I have also been to university twice and I’ve learned how to think critically. I might be a bit lazy with sources in conversation sometimes, but I did write prize winning essays at university. My point is I do believe science and spirituality can co-exist. That is probably a longer discussion for a different post.

I know that peculiar coincidences and happenstances occur very frequently in my life. Yesterday I was watching a documentary about squirrels and I started crafting in my mind a story about red and grey squirrels at war. This morning, I walked into a charity shop at random and found a children’s book called The Silver Tide. It’s about the invasion of grey squirrels in the UK taking over the reds. Make of that what you will, tell me it is nothing but a meaningless random incident if you like. I will be too busy writing to argue with you.