If asked, I would back myself to be able to pen a vignette on a variety of topics. Ordinarily, all yours truly needs is a sight, sound, redolence, or some other stirring of senses to spark creative juices into life.
With this in mind, it won’t surprise you to learn, currently journaling accompanied by picturesque settings of the North Yorkshire Moors and Wolds take my creativity notions onto another altogether higher level… Or so I feel, anyhow.
Sitting at my laptop outside of my campervan, witnessing these beautiful landscapes, it strikes home why aesthetically pleasing Lake District scenes augmented the wonderful prose of William Wordsworth… And, indeed, why a Shelley sonnet penned with a Tuscan landscape exudes romance from every pore.
On the flip side of this, could the reason Heckmondwike poet Geoffrey Pageboy’s work is universally lambasted be his view when writing ‘Soliloquys from the Sewer’ was Calderdale Sewage Farm… The stench of his workplace providing a sensory double whammy for the poor ‘Heck’ scribbler.
Of course, not all worthy art is, or must be, created in places of scenic splendour. However, if one was endeavouring to write romantically, for example, I guess visions of the Yorkshire Wolds would provide greater inspiration than (say) Calderdale Sewage Farm.
Footnote – Incidentally, Geoffrey Pageboy and Calderdale Sewage Farm are figments of my imagination, and, mercifully, so is the workplace stench!
I suppose if you’re looking to your surroundings for creative inspiration then location is clearly a key driving factor. For instance, if Barry Hines hoped his locale would inspire during writing of ‘A Kestrel for a Knave’ (later adapted for Ken Loach’s kitchen sink drama ‘Kes’), I’d venture a grim working-class Yorkshire setting would prove more useful than Shelley’s Tuscan sunsets.
What do I know, though?!… Bazza may have written about the tragically grim existence of South Yorkshire schoolboy Billy Casper in a place of consummate luxury for all I know… instead, painting his storyline from memories of his own similarly tough fledgling years; not where he sat when quilling the piece.
Either that, or Hines might just have possessed a bloody good imagination… Or, indeed, the inspiration brew may have come from all, or some, of the above.
As a man who endeavours to constantly grow as an author, I often think of how fellow members of the penmanship club draw on inspiration and evolve their prose structure.
I put great store in the words (both fictional and factual) of acclaimed Leeds author, actor/performer Alan Bennett. A man whose burgeoning literary back catalogue even exceeds fellow Yorkshireman Geoffrey Pageboy… Actually I forgot, Geoff doesn’t exist does he… Scratch that thought!
Anyhow, Bennett once said he didn’t believe there was such a thing as a piece of writing its author would be 100% happy with. Some may think if a highly acclaimed professional writer can’t achieve total fulfilment with his art, then what chance have us amateurs.
From my perspective, though, I am not daunted or less inclined to write from hearing advocacies that, whatever penmanship level I achieve, I’ll never be 100% delighted with the finished product… The news merely drives me on; hoping to continue improving/growing in a field I truly love grazing. Hopefully, getting as close to the (seemingly unattainable) 100% as I can.
I spent part of yesterday tidying out campervan cupboards. My idea was to maximise space within the vehicle’s various cubby holes. These storage areas becoming rammed with all sorts of stuff in recent months, some of it not used or no longer required.
Among the things requiring despatching were damaged tent hooks, forgotten about crisp packets first opened in February, and a Barry Manilow onesie… Don’t ask!
However, the most surprising discovery was finding a family of Romanian gypsies in the space under the van’s double bed… And there was me thinking Sarah had stopped her people trafficking business!!
Disclaimer – Hopefully you my dear reader will realise the previous paragraph was fictional… I want it on record that I find exploitation by people smugglers abhorrent… Also, they were Bulgarian, not Romanian gypsies.
As I had plenty of time on my hands, when I restocked the camper van’s food cupboard, I felt moved to put the soup, bean, and chopped tomato cans into alphabetical order; with their labels pointing towards my metaphorical Mecca, Headingley cricket ground… Which I guess goes to prove the campervan life isn’t just one endless adrenalin rush.
I’m briefly back in West Yorkshire to attend an open-air gig tonight in Leeds; returning to Scarbs tomorrow to finish my van storage feng shui… God only knows what’s in the cupboards I’ve not checked yet.
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