I’m starting February with some mysterious bug which infected me hours after I was boasting to my mum that I rarely get sick. It may be the gods having a laugh, or it might have something to do with the months out of date margarine I slathered on my rye bread. I’ve been moving into this year with an hourly fluctuating mood, which is usual, but this morning, I had (despite feeling physically grim) an uncommon sense of optimism about the month ahead and my writing plans; however, now I’m back to thinking about still not having a falu red cottage in the woods. To distract myself from my as-yet unrealised dream, I’m mulling over some of the things I did in January, and I’m bringing you along.
*The featured image is from one of my favourite scenes in Nosferatu, which I talk about down below.
I WATCHED NOSFERATU
My friend Ian and I went to see the film of the moment on New Year’s Day because what better way to see in the new year than by demolishing a sack of popcorn and watching the latest dark offering from my all-time favourite director.
I’ll come right out and say that Nosferatu isn’t my favourite film by Eggers. I know it’s not important in the grand scheme of things, but it feels important to me, that I list my favourites in order. (It would be interesting to see how you tier yours.) Mine goes as follows: In first place is The Witch. After much deliberation, I decided that The Lighthouse and Nosferatu tie in joint second place (though this might change when I see Nosferatu for a second time) and The Northman comes in third.
Something that came to mind early in the film was how many shots would make superb black metal album art, a thought I quickly realised was shared by a multitude of strangers online. Now, while everyone is crowing about the final scene, which is, I agree, flawless, the scene I most find myself coming back to in my head is when the unmanned carriage approaches Hutter at the crossroads to transport him to Orlok’s castle. The thundering of the horses hooves was, I feel, reminiscent of the trance-like drumming sequence in the initial Valkyrie scene in The Northman. They both had an enrapturing effect on me anyway.
Regretfully, I have to say that I think the film was carrying some excess baggage and what was going on with Defoe’s accent? Have I missed something? Was he doing it on purpose? It was baffling beyond belief, but god damn, did Bill Skarsgård’s portrayal of Orlok make up for every ‘could have cut this’ moment, as well as Defoe’s hodgepodge of an accent. Amusingly, about half an hour in, several young adults decided, for whatever reason, that they were done with the film and got up and left.
Before I wrap up this segment, I need to approach the topic of fancying Orlok, something which seems to be the going trend at the moment. Men’s Health (jokingly?) labeled him 2024’s sexiest man. From the get-go I was smitten with his thick accent and delectable rolled r’s, his looming stature, ominous presence, and, bizarrely, his substantial moustache. It also may have helped knowing there was a Skarsgård in there somewhere. Hilariously, as I sat watching the movie, I thought I’d be the only oddball feeling such things.
I WROTE FLASH FICTION
When my poetry collection Waiting For Gryla was faced with a delay in getting prepped for print, I handled the situation by putting it to one side and not looking at it for a week. I used the time instead to re-shape my fractured writing schedule and write some flash fiction.
I hadn’t written fiction in years and missed it. I also needed to prove to myself that I could still make stories up and get them down on the page instead of letting them exist briefly in my head, then spirit away, never to be encountered again.
Writing fiction involved giving myself permission to explore and mess around (not as easy as it sounds). I challenged myself to write the rough draft of a 300-word flash daily. I was excited and simultaneously scared shitless because my brain had, until that point, been used for little else than recounting past miseries and dreaming up future ones.
It was liberating, though, giving myself permission to play, but if it’s not something I keep doing regularly, my brain will quickly start to recoup the misery I’ve let live in my head rent-free, and I’ll forget, all over again, how to let go and have fun with my work.
I PUBLISHED WAITING FOR GRYLA
When I started this collection, I had the grandest vision of what it was going to be. But it’s only in part what I imagined. In theory, writing it should have been the most enjoyable of experiences because writing about winter and the Nordics is what I live to do, but burnout combined with relationship trauma mixed with insecurity, perfectionism, and a whole load of other life issues does not a smooth book writing process make. It’s a small collection, not the forty poems I’d planned, but I’m proud of the pieces that made it through what was a grueling journey. Before I forget, the digital version is available to buy now! The printed copies are getting delivered tomorrow and will be up for sale this coming week.
I READ ELEVEN BOOKS
January was a good book reading month, and I found myself returning to several books from my childhood, including Call of the Wild, White Fang, Little House on the Prairie, and On the Banks of Plum Creek. Call of the Wild and White Fang are among my most beloved books, and the time I spent re-reading them this past month was blissful.
There were a few books I wish I hadn’t bothered with, one of them being Floriography by Jessica Roux. I saw it in the library and took it out without leafing through first because it sounded appealing, and I didn’t expect to be disappointed. But I was disappointed, bitterly so. This illustrated guide to the Victorian language of flowers would have worked better as a blog post instead of a hardback book – there just wasn’t any substance to it. I was expecting swathes of text, but there were merely snippets accompanying the illustrations. I learned my lesson, though: always peruse a book before lending.
The other book I read that wasn’t all it was hyped up to be was Want: Sexual Fantasies by Anonymous, edited by Gillian Anderson. Initially, I thought I’d have zipped through it in a night, but I got bored and left it on the shelf for a week and a half before returning to it. It was a slog to finish. Turns out I’m not as interested in the sexual fantasies of other women as I thought.
I SET ALARMS FOR MYSELF THROUGHOUT THE DAY
Last week, I had an eureka moments where I thought, ‘I should set alarms for myself throughout the day to remind myself of what I should be doing!’ Setting multiple alarms is a tip which I will have read a hundred times or more in books about ADHD or listened to on an ADHD podcast but would have then gone on to forget about until the other day when it occurred to me, and I thought I was having an entirely original idea.
I used to think I could cope and keep track of where my hours were going by just having a ‘to-do’ list jotted in my notebook. But I couldn’t, and as much as I hated to admit it, I needed help. I didn’t like the idea of always having my phone on hand because I, truth be told, do not enjoy owning a phone one bit, but having the alarms has been helpful. More than helpful. It’s been changing how I go about my day, and I’ve been feeling more in control of where my hours are going and what I’m doing with them.
A Wyrd Of Her Own 