How I Learned to Stop Saluting Magpies

Dating – Part One

farleyrose59 5 Comments

It’s a couple of months since I finished How I Learned to Stop Saluting Magpies and I’ve taken a break over the summer to mull over a new writing project and recharge my batteries. But it’s September now and I’m keen to get started.

As this next idea is different from what I’ve done before,  I’ve found myself searching around for ways to approach it, and one strategy has been to turn at last to a book that’s been sitting on my desk for several years. The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron was written in 1992 and comes highly recommended. Millions of people have done this 12-week programme that claims to help you discover and recover your creative self, whether that’s writing, painting, music, acting, photography, needlework, gardening or any of the multitude of other ways that humans express themselves and explore ideas.  

I read the introductory chapters of the book and although I couldn’t connect with everything the author was saying, I decided to try using the two key tools that she advocates and to see what happened. The first one – writing morning pages – requires you to fill three A4 pages at the start of each day. Just free flow writing about whatever comes into your head. I’ve now been doing that for two weeks and it’s been remarkably helpful and productive because once I’ve had a moan about who has annoyed me, and which bit of me is aching today, I’ve usually only filled half a page. It’s then that I start unpacking ideas, often surprising and random, and I can only be grateful and wonder where on earth they’ve come from.   

The other tool is to have an Artist Date once a week. This is when you set aside some time, perhaps two hours, for doing something that nurtures you. Julia Cameron describes it as an excursion or a play date that you preplan and the crucial thing is that you must do it on your own. ‘Resist all interlopers’ she instructs firmly.

Week One – and as I needed to be in Winchester for a meeting on Friday morning, I decided that my inaugural Artist Date would be to take myself out for lunch and to order something that I wouldn’t normally eat. 

I chose a French restaurant in the centre of town and when I entered, the waiter smiled expectantly. ‘What time is your reservation?’ he asked. I didn’t have one, and he looked dubious. Then he said, ‘I think we can squeeze you in,’ and took me to a small table by the window. It was perfect for dining alone and I settled down to read the menu. I’ve always been suspicious of mussels and so I challenged myself and ordered moules marinière. Frites might be the traditional accompaniment but as I don’t eat potatoes, I ordered bread and a green salad. A succession of servers arrived, each with a different job and a big smile, bringing sparkling water, a finger bowl, and a large empty dish for depositing the shells. Then eventually one of them placed a large plate of steaming mussels in front of me, adorned with finely chopped parsley and smelling of the sea. I took a slow breath in to savour the moment and as I took my first taste, I gave a spontaneous groan of pleasure and was grateful that the adjacent table was still empty. The salad came with small chunks of luscious avocado and a sharp, lemony vinaigrette and the bread was so good that it could have been baked in France that morning. It was the perfect dish for a solo lunch as each mussel has to be attended to individually and so you have no option but to eat slowly.  

I listened to the happy buzz of smartly-dressed Winchester ladies, out for lunch in twos and threes, and when all the shells had been transferred to the debris dish and I’d had enough bread, there was still plenty of the delicious creamy, briny juice. So I asked for a soup spoon. I finished up with a café gourmand – an excellent coffee with three mini-desserts. The only downside was lingering a little too long and having to run to the bus stop. Not comfortable after a good lunch.

I went home feeling thoroughly contented though still not quite sure why these dates might be good for me. But when I woke up the next morning I had a moment of clarity. I realised that during that lunch I’d felt fully alive – in a very different way from if I’d been chatting with someone because I’d paid attention to everything. The tastes, the smells, the service, the surroundings. Which is not only life-enhancing but helps to set off thoughts that feed creativity. I deemed it a success and started wondering what I might do in Week 2.

As it happened, I had to go to London on Friday and decided that when I’d finished, I would take advantage of the late opening at the National Portrait Gallery. I imagined myself wandering around contemplative and serene, as I got acquainted with some of the 11,000 Britons on the walls. 

Unfortunately I cut things a bit fine – when I got to my local station, the train was already in, and as I dashed onto the platform, the doors slid shut. I stood helplessly while it waited the standard humiliating thirty seconds and then glided off without me. This was going to mess up my commitments for the first part of the day, so I gave up on those and went back home to reconsider my Artist Date. 

‘I know,’ I thought. ‘I’ll take the Number 1 bus from the top of my road and that will drop me near Shawford.’ The village railway station has a cafe that’s been rescued and restored by a local heritage project and I’m curious to see it. I set off for the bus stop, imagining myself relaxing in charming surroundings with coffee, delicious cake and a book. Not quite as exciting as wandering around a London gallery after dark but after all, Artist Dates don’t need to be fancy. In fact I guess it’s important that they are not all fancy, otherwise they’d be both demanding and expensive. 

After my earlier public transport mishap I left plenty of time for the walk to the bus stop. But as I neared the top of the hill and the main road, I spotted a Number 1 bus whizzing past. It was followed shortly by another one. That didn’t bode at all well. They clearly weren’t running according to the timetable but I was determined to stay optimistic so I carried on to the bus stop and stood there patiently. Fifteen minutes passed and then I managed to get onto the website which informed me that the next Number 1 bus would be along in twenty-three minutes. By then I’d had enough of waiting so I had a rapid rethink and came up with Plan C. I’d downgrade yet again and walk to Costa Coffee on the nearby university campus. It should be quiet as the students were still on vacation. I set off briskly along The Avenue and three minutes after leaving the bus stop, a Number 1 rumbled past. It was followed two minutes later by another one. Maybe I was imagining it but as I walked along the road looking miserable and getting wet – because by now it was raining – the passengers on the lower deck looked particularly happy and pleased with themselves. 

A hundred yards past the next bus stop I spotted a blue double-decker in the distance, travelling in my direction. Another rapid change of plan. It was not too late to revert to Plan B so I started running as fast as I could back to the bus stop. As I got there, panting, the bus approached and I saw that it said Not in Service. That’s an awful lot of public transport misfortune for one day but I promise, dear reader, that I would not lie to you.  

In the end, I did walk to the campus Costa and spent a pleasant hour reading a novel that transported me to the 1930s and the mountains of Kentucky. All whilst nursing a latte and a slice of lemon drizzle cake. It wasn’t quite the date I’d planned but I wouldn’t normally have set aside that amount of time during the day just for myself, so it was worthwhile. We all know that dating is a risky and uncertain business and it seems that’s true even when you’re dating yourself. I’ve got another ten weeks of Artist Dates to go – I’ll let you know how I get on. 

How I Learned to Stop Saluting Magpies

farleyrose59 9 Comments

Hurray! It’s finished. 

This week I took delivery of the first copy of my book – How I Learned to Stop Saluting Magpies. After all the work and glitches, it’s thrilling to see it in its completed state. Jo Dalton has come up with a beautiful cover and Dawn Black the interior designer has also added a touch of magic. I’m grateful to them both. These have been very happy collaborations after months of working on my own to shape the story and the ideas, as faithfully and curiously as I can. 

Along the way, I’ve read dozens – perhaps hundreds – of books as I’ve explored an eclectic set of topics – from flamingos to Russian history, via Jane Austen, fish, classic films, superstition, trains, Japanese culture, forgiveness, slow living, anxiety, painting, long-distance walks and a mysterious grandmother. And much more. Like I said, it’s eclectic. 

It takes — at least it’s taken me — a long time to get from the initial concept to the final product. Somewhere between four and five years. I can’t be sure of the exact date but know I was walking on the Cornish cliffs when the idea for it suddenly came into my head. It blew in with the wind like Mary Poppins, and then it wouldn’t leave me alone.  It’s a sequel to my first book 31 Treats And A Marriage but with quite a different slant.

I nearly gave up several times. When my laptop was stolen from a train somewhere between Amsterdam and Berlin, I lost my research notes. I use a writing tool called Scrivener and thought everything was being automatically backed up, as that was how I’d set it up. Turns out it wasn’t. Something very odd had happened and no-one could work out what had gone wrong. The helpful people at Scrivener did their best but were mystified. Thousands of words and months of work – all gone. I nearly gave up then. But I bought a new computer, took a deep breath, drank lots of coffee and started up again. 

Then there was the period of creative block when out of the blue I simply lost the desire to write. It was frustrating and perplexing and I wrote about it here. That was when I learned that we all need seven different kinds of rest, and I was due for some creative rest. Thankfully, after about four months, I re-engaged with the writing process and learned to love it again. 

There is joy in completing this book but also sadness. My dear friend Anne Stanton was always so encouraging of my writing, and made such thoughtful comments about my previous books. She was often in my mind while I was writing, but she will never get to read this one, as she died of bone cancer in November last year. Similarly, Chris Harris — a wonderful man who was so well-read but made time to read my books, and to comment so intelligently on them. He died in January. I miss them both.

If you would like to find out how I learned to stop saluting magpies, and why it was so necessary, then the book is available in both paperback and Kindle versions. It takes a while for publishers’ details to appear on some websites so don’t be put off if you see an ‘out of stock’ message — it’s currently listed by Blackwell’s and Amazon but should be available to order through all good bookshops. If you read it, I would be thrilled if you find something interesting, something useful, and something that makes you laugh out loud. Something, too, that prompts a conversation. Preferably lively. And if you like it, please do consider leaving a review — it makes a big difference.

And now the moment has come…

You’ve been a long time in the making, little Magpie. It was just the two of us for those years—quiet hours, exploration, the slow shaping of something uncertain—and although I could never be confident that you would find your way out of my imagination, you have. It’s been such a rich experience and I will miss you. But nothing lasts forever, and now that I can hold you, it’s time to set you free. Flap your wings. Spread them wide. You’re ready to fly.

How I Learned to Stop Saluting Magpies: A Lifeline List and Letting Go of Fear. 2025. Esmeralda Publishing. ISBN 978-0-9934711-2-4

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