Re-entry

or, looking forward to re-establishing the creative routine

Hello dearest reader,

It’s January 2024, which makes me want to crawl into a small ball and wonder at the cruel and churning nature of time. We’ve just landed back in Melbourne from our time away in the UK. Although we returned to joyous blue skies, 28°C, and sunset not being at 4pm, there’s a certain cloying scent that laces the summer winds: the stress-tinged, looming smell of work; one that I’ll be inhaling daily come next week.

Sunrise and, in the far distance, a cloud fortress. Photo by me.

Anyway, it’s not yet next week, so …

I had high hopes of spending a decent chunk of the holiday writing and reading, but that mostly didn’t happen. I feel scattered, to be honest, and hope that a return to a bit of routine will set my brain back into creative mode. I’m not going to make any specific plans, but I miss living with my brain immersed to the eyeballs in fiction. In coming weeks there’ll be more Brae, Precipice and the gnawing desire of The Sernox. I’ve debated switching to posting once every two weeks, but for now I’m going to stick with weekly. The self-imposed deadlines¹ keep me afloat and I know that once work proper sets in, the release and outlet that these posts provide me will be my balm.

Last week,

Ben Wakeman

posted the full collection of his Substack Community writing project Same Walk, Different Shoes, which I was part of. The project resulted in a rather vast collection of amazing stories, which I am still working my way through. My apologies if I’ve not read yours yet². I have a lot of tabs open and posts saved!

Before I close this short post, here are some random things.

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I watched The Fabelmans on the first leg of the return journey³. It’s a charming film that depicts a perhaps-autobiographical recounting of Steven Spielberg’s adolescence and how he gained his passion of film-making. I loved it. Several intertwining stories thread through the film, with one in particular being exposed through the camera itself.

I flitted across various other watchings, including a documentary on nuclear power and a moving portrayal of the life of Sinead O’Connor. As we were coming in to land in Melbourne, I began Dunkirk. Yes, yes, an idiotic choice with only 30 minutes to spare. My finger had hovered over the icon for hours beforehand, but being an indecisive fool I never pushed it until the descent began. I am, generally, not a Nolan fan. I think his films are overrated and he relies too much on spectacle than good storytelling⁴. Or maybe I just don’t like his directorial approach. Anyway, I was quite captivated by Dunkirk and regretted not committing to it earlier in the flight. I was a bit confused by the “One Week”, “One Day”, “One Hour” titles that appeared on the screen, as all the events seemed to be happening somewhat simultaneously, plus the actions of the characters on the beach left me with that dream-anxiety feeling of running through treacle. I’ll have to return to it properly to make sense of it.

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Through a series of miraculous events, we were lucky to find ourselves in Emirates Premium Economy on our Dubai-to-Melbourne flight. Boy was it good. I rate a flight’s comfort based on the internationally-recognised metric of Josephine’s Sleep Rotations Per Hour (JSRPH). A typical flight has a JSRPH value of >5 where, whilst I resign myself to near-zero sleep and some random film, Jo snatches fragments in between repositioning herself against the window, against my shoulder, against the tray table, against the window … . Emirates Premium Economy attained a JSRPH value of <1. It might even be less than 0.5, but I was too busy sleeping myself to notice. The vast space, the food, the footrests, the degrees of reclining attainable in the chair … I dare say it made the flight positively enjoyable.

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Thanks to

Simon Haisell

, I have finally turned my attention to Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall. I’ve not read much historical fiction and I have no deep love for the monarchy, but there’s a somewhat interesting appeal for reading about the life of Thomas Cromwell, especially when you know where the story (presumably) culminates. Simon has set out a reading schedule, which allows this to feel like a slow burn read over multiple months, which will also mean I’m not feeling fragmented and guilty by reading other novels at the same time. The first three chapters down, I’m finding the prose captivating, as well as the story. There’s something quite special about Hilary’s command of language here, and I’ve already found myself highlighting numerous passages.

His father’s momentary distraction at the loss of his good boot allows him the leisure to vomit.

The leisure to vomit? Brilliant.

1. “deadlines”—this is two days late. Good start to the year, Nathan.

2. Along with a slew of other posts in my inbox.

3. Actually, both Jo and I watched it, nearly in sync. I had a micro-nap, which meant I had to rewind a few minutes, so then out of the corner of my eye I was glimpsing the future of specific scenes, albeit without sound. Some weird part of me enjoyed that.

4. Good Lord was Tenet bad. Like, who-actually-allowed-this-to-be-made? levels of bad.