Gamrie, Friday 9th August 2013

DSCF0782The sea stretches before me, the colour of liquid silver to the east, darkening to molten lead on the west side of the bay where it is overshadowed by Gamrie Head’s grassy braes. The lonely Saltire flutters atop a crag of rock that squats on the water in the near distance. I sit on the lookout point of Seatown Harbour, and I am at peace with the universe.

This place – oh, this place – has soothed and inspired me, and what a delight to be without the constant nag of the internet. I have taken to writing longhand here, my pencil flowing across the page like nobody’s business. I always doubted Alex when she maintained that writing longhand was a way of lending fluidity to her thoughts, her words. But I get it now. This thing that’s happening is almost organic, the words on the page growing out of this remarkable town, its friendly folk and its long history. The keyboard clatter has gone, the constant spellchecker nagging removed. There’s just me, the vast sky, the waves, a million gulls and the words.

“Pretentious bollocks” I hear you say. Well of course, but it’s my pretentious bollocks, and maybe this will be honed during the process of typing it from notebook to blog. It’s coming on to rain now, so I’ll close this notebook and return to the delightful cottage by the sea, haunted by sadness that tomorrow I will be leaving this magical place.

Actual Bollocks.


About wombat37

A Yorkshireman in the green hills of Lancashire, UK Not a real wombat, obviously, or typing would become an issue. I do have short legs and a hairy nose, however. Oh, & a distinctive smell.

Posted on August 12, 2013, in Drawings, Gamrie, Scotland, The writing process. Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

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