I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO WRITE

I don’t know what to write. I’ve really struggled to get started. I know what my muse is. I know what
inspires me. I know the ideas that set me off exploring. So, this should be a simple piece to write. But, it’s
not. Distilling it into a short, balanced reflection is difficult. I’m inspired to write by many ideas, but, they
intertwine through time and space, so that explaining the precise nature of my inspiration is like trying to
knit with jelly. But, here goes…

My muse is the land - specifically north Northumberland: the rolling borderlands and golden sands; its
quiet corners and hidden histories. This is ‘my land’. I write to explore and understand its moods and its
people: to make sense of my world. So far, so simple. This is where it gets messy. My muse has multiple
personalities that interconnect. I find it easier to think of my muse as a solar system. The land - ‘my land’
– is the sun; the beating core around which all else exists. The different aspects of the land are the orbiting
planets.

One of the first planets to be formed was Story. My Grandma was a great one for local history, legends and
assorted gossip which she relayed enthusiastically as we drove through the countryside. It was hugely
entertaining. It got me delving into our language, the deeper significance of folklore, and its role in our
lives today. Now, I find remnants of our oral history still living within legends, whilst hiding in place names,
are the myriad ways the land imbricates itself into our daily lives. It’s done imperceptibly like the tide
creeping over sand.

Another early planet was Psyche. I’ve always felt a deep sense of connection to north Northumberland.
But, it’s always puzzled me why my connection wasn’t nearer to home. I grew up in Newcastle. Most
regular family outings were along the Tyne Valley. It’s true that family holidays were on Holy Island and
my dad came from Coldstream. But that didn’t ever explain satisfactorily the depth of my connection. So,
in part, I began to write to understand this connection with ‘my land’. It developed into a deeper
exploration of how the land provides a sense of belonging and identity. I like to understand the way in
which the ‘how’ and ‘why’ of things interweaves to create the whole. But, getting it organised in my head
hasn’t been easy. Some of the social sciences’ literature on this is as dense as the dolerite we stand on. In
complex ways, how we see the land and how we see ourselves are intertwined; co-produced. As Robert
Macfarlane puts it, ‘we landmark and…are landmarked’, creating stories about who we are based on our
perceptions and memories, both good and bad, of the spaces and places that shaped us.

The next three planets are Archivia, Lidar and Geo. On rocky Geo, I explore the geology, excavating the
ways the rocks shape the topography of the land, its industries and the fortunes of those living here. From
early hunter-gatherers, to the 19thC economic migrants who worked the coal, lime and herrings, through to
present day tourist adverts of golden beaches and green hills, our underlying geology has provided a
wealth of resources that have sustained us for centuries.

I visit Lidar to unearth archaeology that puts flesh on the bones of the land with the story of the lived life.
When I hold an exquisitely delicate, worked flint, or a reiver’s dagger, time melts away. I’ve also
discovered that in every age, the ear spoon was a treasured possession.

Archivia is a favourite planet. I spend a long time here, walking through the wildwoods of documents and
registers. I love history and discovering what makes people tick. I’m curious too. I always want to know
what happened next. I want to wander off the beaten track and discover what George Eliot called the
‘hidden lives and unvisited tombs’ -the untold stories of ordinary people. It’s an uncovering of the
profound in the parochial, the extraordinary in the ordinary.

Another frequently visited planet is Walking. I go there when I need to think. When I set out, I don’t feel
particularly connected to my surroundings. But, the very act of putting one foot in front of the other and
feeling the land beneath me eventually kicks in and I find myself in a different space: part of the
landscape. It’s what Nan Shepherd described as ‘walking into the mountain’. This connection helps me to
explore the character of the land, and the impact of place on people.
The final planet is Alchemy. It’s where I write. I enjoy crafting stories, weighing each word for its rhythm
and cadence, making it as lyrical as I can. But, I like to do more than tell tales. I want them to have a
deeper, universal meaning. It’s important for me to write the shadow stories too - the disquieting histories
of fractured lives. I hate the glossy, sanitised view of Northumberland portrayed in tourist trash. So, my
writing leads readers into darkness, but also guides them out into understanding.

Magic happens here too. I’ve long been aware of the enduring nature of the land and how everything
begins and ends with it. But, it was in looking for the evidence to substantiate what I felt instinctively, that
the dance of the planets began. It’s been a long, slow, waltz to an unheard melody as I’ve followed
archives, archaeology, geology, and folklore through time as they’ve overlapped, intertwined and breathed
fresh life into old bones, revealing the richness of the land.

This intertwining of the planets is mesmerising. So often, I’ve been researching one story, only to be led to
an entirely different tale as the exploration spirals and cascades across lives and through centuries. These
lifeskeins overlap and interleave endlessly, leaving a vapour trail through time as finely interlaced as the
Lindisfarne Gospels themselves. As individual strands, each captivates. But it is only in their interplay that
you see clearly for the first time. Each forms part of a much greater whole. And a single golden thread
connects all: ‘my land’.