Kathleen Jowitt

What can you say today with certainty?



From here, the days get lighter.

I have a friend who asks me exactly the right questions (even if I never answer them).

I know what is the next step on Speak Its Name.

Things are grim, but they do not stay grim.


In 2015, I am open to... huge, exciting, things happening

In 2015, I want to feel... light-hearted and full of grace

In 2015, I will say no to... over-commitment

In 2015, I will know I am on the right track when... I see the secret holiness of everything. But when I find myself veering off course, I will gently but firmly... rewrite my timetable so that I have a day or a week free to reset what needs resetting

In December 2015, I want to look back and say... that, my love, was the best year ever.

Today, I invite you to consider: what sorts of signs and symbols have recurred for you in 2014? Think: repeating colours, shapes, people, sayings, music, images, ideas. Where could they possibly be leading you?



Mermaids - cheating, rather, because I went looking for mermaids once I discovered what an apt metaphor they were. Mermaids for me are a useful way of thinking about fiction, these creatures that look almost the same as us, but who, moving from one element to another, need things provided or explained that feel obvious in this world.

Rainbows - Lots of them, this year. There were a couple of weeks in the autumn where it seemed as if every day I saw a rainbow from the window of my train home. One of these felt particularly apt, coming on the day that Vicky Beeching came out. And there's one that falls on the wall at work, when the sun comes a certain way through the windows. I think the obvious message is obvious here. I have been managing to be more out this year, if (it feels) less active.

Bells - the quarter-hour chimes from the church opposite my office, bringing me back to the moment.

Purple - I know it's my favourite colour, but even my study wall was purple when we moved in. Still preparing, still waiting. But also luxury and sovereignty.

Inventive ways of transporting things - well, I have moved to Cambridge, and you would not believe what weird things I've seen carried dangled from a bicycle's handlebars. I managed to bring a planter of herbs home in my own bike basket (only spilt a few bark chippings); but the best one I saw was a chap on a skateboard, moving at a good speed through the railway station car park, with a wide, flat cardboard package balanced on his head. I am not sure if this has a moral, but I note it.

Chocolate - it's good stuff, an inexpensive indulgence.

Illness - mental or physical, one way or another I've been ill on and off since August. I think it's trying to say that I need some rest.

How can you stop being an a**hole, get out of your own way and make room for more of your magic to happen in 2015?



Today I would like to be a tortoise. I would like to pull my head and arms and legs into a shell, and go to sleep in a box full of straw, and spend the winter in a shed. And nobody would find this at all odd because, you know, that's what tortoises do. Nobody would feel at all hurt or insulted, nobody would expect me to send them Christmas cards, nobody would expect me to be anywhere but in my box. Because I am a tortoise.

Which is a long way of saying that I am knackered, and have been driving myself far too hard and expecting far too much of myself. I have been doing too much travelling, too much socialising, too much messing around on the internet... Not that I don't love all those things, but there are ways of doing them that drain me, and ways of doing them that fill me up, and at the moment they all seem to be wearing me out. Hence my desire to hibernate.

How can I sort this out for next year? I have a couple of ideas, and they are mostly about being more clever with my diary. Firstly, I'm thinking about working from home one day a week. I'd been resisting this, because of being terrified that I'd end up a hermit, never speaking to anybody - but one day a week is unlikely to result in this dire scenario becoming reality. On an ordinary work day I travel one hundred and sixteen miles. If I don't have to do that five days running, I think I'll wind up much less tired. Also, I've seen a small ad from a piano teacher who does daytime lessons. One of those hours that I'm not spending on the train, I can use for piano.

Then I can be clever with my annual leave. My employer is extremely generous when it comes to annual leave. This year, now I don't have to use it on moving house and boring stuff like that, I'm going to book at least two separate weeks of absolutely nothing at all, as well as using some of it on actual honest to God holidays. And by 'holidays' I do not mean 'visiting my parents on the Isle of Wight again': dearly as I love my parents, visits to them are never as relaxing as I think they're going to be. Also, it's high time I went abroad again.

Next year, I'm going to let myself have fun, damn it.

What are you really proud that you made happen in 2014, despite the gremlins? And what will you do anyway in 2015?



In 2014 I finished (for certain values of 'finished'; read on) my first novel, Speak Its Name. I also resumed writing my first novel, The Slowest Elopement. The latter has been going, on and off, since I was twelve, maybe younger. The former is a relative newcomer; I started writing it in 2007. You will understand why finishing either of them feels like an achievement.

I sent Speak Its Name off to about five agents (consecutively, not all at once); none of them were interested, but doing this at all was bloody scary, and having done it has deprived the gremlins of at least one of their arguments, namely, that I'm too chicken.

Of course, having done very little with Speak Its Name for a few months now, I am haunted by a conviction that, even after two thorough edits, it needs to be about 15,000 words shorter (which I can do something about), written entirely from one particular character's point of view (tricky, but doable) and that it will never get taken up unless I remove the religion and the politics (impossible).

This, therefore, is a thing that I will do anyway in 2015. At least, I'll attempt the first two. I will then think about self-publishing, but the gremlins are most insistent that I'll get the pants sued off me if I do - with, I fear, good reason. I might not do that one anyway.

I will also complete The Slowest Elopement, which contains no religion, no politics, and might get me disowned, but shouldn't get me sued.

Piece of cake. Gremlins like cake.

Reminder: still taking prompts for December (and January) Days. Ask me to talk about anything you like: you are most welcome, whoever you are, however you came here.




Step one: set the timer for 5 minutes and write down as many answers as you can think of to the question: 'When and how was I brave in 2014?' Note: remember the private, intimate and small ways in which you were brave as well as the big public ways.

- came out to a group of evangelical Christians
- submitted a novel to an agent (several agents, in fact)
- moved back in with my partner after six months enforced separation
- went for and moved into the flat we fell in love with
- gave up alcohol
- told people about my mental health, or lack of it
- submitted other writing for consideration elsewhere
- applied for a job above my current level, and was interviewed for it
- spent a weekend with people from a long way back, whom I feared I'd no longer have anything in common with
- went to the post office
- decided that I'd got to where I needed to be


Step two: Choose one of more of those moments of bravery and write a letter yourself back at the beginning of 2014, letting you know how brave you are going to be that year.

Dear Kathleen,

You know that this is going to be a big year, even if all that happens is the move, because that's big enough to occupy all your attention for at least the first half of it. As it happens, there is a lot more.

You will put some roots down, and begin to grow. You will knock at all sorts of doors and, although none of them have opened, yet, you will have the courage to keep knocking, or, at least, to know that you will knock again.

You will behave for one glorious, awful, terrifying, moment, with almost complete integrity, and you will, for once, make no apology for who you are.

You will smile at them all afterwards, knowing that they know.

You know it's going to be big. You don't realise how big it's going to be, or, once you've gone through it, how inevitable it will have seemed.

Much love,

Kathleen


Step three: Write yourself a short reminder to tuck into your wallet or post above your desk of just how brave you can and will be in 2015.

2015 is an excellent fun year; it is the first year of being grown up. And by 'grown up' I mean 'isn't waiting for anything else to happen' and 'doesn't give a damn what anybody else thinks anyway'. Go bravely on.

What tiny rituals: signal that your day is starting; help you ease into a creative project; give you closure from an intensive task; or mark other significant milestones in your day? What new rituals would you like to create in the new year?



I love rituals. When I think about going over to the Society of Friends, the lack of ritual (and, more to the point, the insistence on not having them) is one of the things that makes me think that I am not a natural Quaker. I find ritual works well for me as a sort of trellis; when I'm droopy and wilting the sheer structure of the thing holds me up, and when I'm healthy and blooming it's still there in the background.

Big ritual. The whole liturgical year is one huge ritual; it spirals around from purple to white to green to purple to white to green with some red bits here and there, and it is reliable and predictable when I'm being nothing of the sort.

I've been experimenting this year with building more ritual into my life. I go to lunchtime communion on Wednesdays and lunchtime Pilates on Fridays. I have a prayerbook app on my phone and I read morning and evening prayer on the train to and from work. I use the 'Angels of the Hours' widget on gratefulness.org. I post something daily for the #100happydays meme on Twitter. A recent development is the 'lie-on-the-floor-under-the-daylight-lamp-and-listen-to-an-album-om-the-iPod' ritual.

And of course I don't manage to do all of these in any given week. This is the point. I can drop out of them, but they are still there when I drop back in again. For me, it's not about getting into such a rhythm of a thing that I can't not do it; it's about doing it as often as I can. Each one is good in itself, but the doing of it shores it up, so that even if I come back to it when I am down, there is enough left in it to reconnect me.

I need to be reminded, though. I mentioned a couple of days ago about wanting a chiming clock. This is why.

Kat talks in the prompt post about the coffee ritual. Mine is tea. I like, and drink, coffee, and it does form part of an occasional writing ritual (I sit down with a blank screen and a cup of coffee and an expensive chocolate, and see what's on the screen when I get to the end of the coffee) but it isn't the first thing I reach for in the morning. That would be tea.

I'm caught up now; there are two things I want to say at the top of this post:

1) I am very excited to have won the 2014 Reverb giveaway! Thank you, Kat, for this and everything!

2) I'm still collecting prompts to take me through Christmas to Epiphany. If there is something you'd like me to talk about, please leave me a prompt here. Pick a specific day if you'd like; otherwise I'll slot it in somewhere. I'm very open to prompts from passing Reverberators or anybody else who's reading.



As you enter into the new year, what would you like to do/make/have/be more often? How will you bear witness and celebrate the tiny milestones? How will you respond on the occasions when your intentions do not come to pass?

Milestones. This year past has been full of them, and big ones at that. Tony's graduation; my new job; my novel; moving house. If I'm honest, it's all been pretty exhausting. It is, however, over. For the first time in years we both have a decent job, and neither of us is having to worry about money.

It's so easy to pick a goal and, as one approaches it, as it suddenly looks like it's going to happen, to persuade oneself that this wasn't really what one meant, that actually one was going for that next mountain, never mind how high this one is. I want to begin this year with the assumption that I'm already where I need to be.

This year coming has one big milestone, which is my 30th birthday, and I'm resolved to devote the rest of the year to - well, to the rest of the year. I want to be in this year, not some ghost of the past that wants me to worry about something that's long over and gone. I want to make the most of it. I want to start living as if I've nothing to wait for. I want to have a huge amount of fun, and I want to pay attention to everything that comes through.

I am planning plenty of rest into 2015. We are going to have our first foreign holiday since our honeymoon, yes, but I also want to make sure that I have at least two separate weeks where I book nothing in at all. I'd also like to get a retreat in there somewhere.

I want to be very present in 2015.

How do I do this? A chiming clock.

My office is opposite a church, and this church has a clock that strikes the quarters. I have made it a practice, every time I hear the chime, to stop. Just for a second, but it's enough, to reconnect to the stillness within.

I'd like that at home, too. So that will be my Christmas present to myself, if nobody else gets me one. A clock that chimes.

Copy/pasted from elseweb, here are my less tangible wishes for 2015:

It is Advent, and so new year for me. I have wishes for the whole year to come…

Fun
Colour
Ease
Spaciously (this was a typo but I liked it. I will do everything spaciously!)
Trust
Joy
Clarity
Clear-seeing
Presence
Love
Courage
Freedom
Sacred

Retreat. Holiday, actual foreign abroad holiday. Weeks of nothing. Another New Opportunity. Further adventures in mermaid twinning. One whopper of a birthday party. If I make a mistake, I make it a good one. I greet everything joyfully and with curiosity.

Please post your favourite picture of yourself from 2014, self-portrait or otherwise!





One night in late June I drank an espresso martini and stayed the night with a friend who has very pale curtains in her spare room. I'd been waking up with the dawn all spring. I managed about two hours of sleep that night, but before I finally dropped off I worked out exactly what to do with my green and black dress that I'd made in 2006 or 2007, which I loved but which no longer fitted.

There had been a conversation, earlier in the evening, which included the oft-heard line, 'Do I need to buy a hat?' The answer, it turns out, was 'No' - but only on the metaphorical level. It served to remind me of a hat that I'd been hankering after for a long time - because it would go so beautifully with the dress, if only I could rescue it. And because it was completely outrageous. And because it was made by my dear friend Arnie, whom I have known since the first day of secondary school, when we met in a very cold and windy lunch break and decided that we would be each other's friends.

I spent more on this hat than I've ever spent on a hat in my life. It may have been more than I've spent on any garment. I was angsting a little bit about this. 'I'm spending all my money on hats. Not even hats. A hat.'

'The singular is important,' Tony said. 'It proves that this is a significant hat.'

And this is true. It is not just a hat. It is art. I have been thinking a lot this year about art, and about how it deserves to be paid for. I need to value other people's art, and my own.

I bought the hat. I bought some black velvet and replaced the bodice on the dress. I made a set of jewellery to go with them. I got new glasses this year, too; it took me a while to get used to the (comparatively) huge frames, which made me feel like Woody Allen for the first few weeks, but I love them now.

( Photo under the cut )

What is the sound of your own voice?



I am not sure that people hear much of my voice. I am a quiet person; I sit at the edges of conversations and listen. Sometimes I have something to say, but not very often. I'm much more vocal online than I am in real life. Or - is that true? I'm a lurker, not a commenter; I read a lot and only occasionally respond. Sometimes that's because I don't want to get drawn into drama. Sometimes it's because someone else has already said everything that I would have done.

When I do, how does it sound? Diffident, kind, amused, sometimes veering to cynical, wanting to believe the best of everything, not necessarily sure that it's safe. Prone to long words, ellipsis, and sentences that run on and on, far away from the original point. Much like my real voice, really.

If we are going to take this literally, I have recorded my poem Manifest. I am always nervous about hearing my recorded voice, but I find, when I muster the courage to listen, I am not the awful person I thought I was.

It’s all too easy to put off loving where we are until everything is perfect. What can you love about where you are now?



I'm in a good place, a safe place. I'm warm and I'm dry and I'm in my study, my nest in the heart of this house, with a lavender candle burning, and Tony's cheesy music drifting in from the conservatory. I've got a very long weekend: tomorrow and Friday off, and then Monday and Tuesday, and a party and a show and all sorts to fill it with. Tomorrow I'll go out and remind myself how much I like this city I live in now.

Eighteen months ago, in the middle of all the terrifying changes, I identified four conditions in which I planned to remain, and here I am: alive, sane, married and employed. The sanity is a bit wobbly sometimes, but the more I remain in the now, the more secure it is.

I came off my bike on the way home this evening, but nothing was damaged except a pair of tights that was on the way out anyway. My bike, my mother's birthday present, and I, are all intact. Tony ran me a bath and lent me his huge fluffy dressing gown. I smell faintly of lemon bath stuff, and my belly is full of shepherd's pie, and I'm pleasantly sleepy. My nose isn't bleeding. That puts today ahead of most of the last week. I'm getting better, and in the mean time I am being looked after in the most delicious manner.

This morning was stunning. I left the house at quarter to seven, and the sky was clear enough for a couple of stars still to be straggling above me, while the dawn was brightening across the river. The red lights and the white lights of the city glowed. This evening it was all moonlight and moody clouds, and there were ginkgo leaves on the pavement.

I like my job. I have reasonable prospects of moving up the ladder. I've written a novel. That's a hell of a thing. I can and will write another. I've learned to ride a bike. All the time, I am growing. And, much as I whinge about being ill, I am an awful lot better. I am not just better than I was five years ago, I am better squared. I have discovered whole new dimensions in which to be better. I've come an amazingly long way and barely noticed.

I am thinking of various friends who are in difficult places, and wishing (really wishing, you know the sort I mean) them well. I'm thinking of my eldest little brother, whose birthday it is. I am thinking of my ex-colleagues, with some of whom I had lunch today, and how much part of my life they still are, and after I was so worried about losing them all. Thinking, too, about friends from way back with whom I have reconnected this year. I have such wonderful people in my life.

I don't know how to finish this entry. Every word brings in a new moment, a new now, and each now another good thing. Now is all there is, the only moment that time touches eternity.