Twenty-eighth

Dear July,
There’s this essay I’ve been trying to write for almost two months. I’ve pitched it to all kinds of places, bouncing it from one editor’s inbox to the next. This week it got picked up and when I read the email I felt like some huge weight had been lifted. Because I could finally write this thing and get it out of my brain. I don’t know what it is about this idea that’s clung to me. But it’s the kind of thought that you can only rid yourself of by writing it.
I was in a weird brain space today, stumbling groggily out of Carry On and plunging into this strange deep-dive of an essay. My writing was more prose than it usually is. I read aloud to myself – gesturing in the empty house. I got caught up on phrases – repeating them over and over because I liked the sound the words made when they bumped together. Writing is worth it for the moments when it feels like magic – like you’re pulling golden thread from thin air, Rumpelstiltskin style.
Alex x
I’m posting a blog for every day in July. Letters to July was inspired by Emily Diana Ruth.

Further reading

December – home

I spent the first minutes of 2018 on the beach. I’ve never actually spent New Year