Hello,
Lucy here, I hope you are doing well. It’s been a long time coming for me to finally set up this space and find the courage to press send.
Time can be such a slippery creature and somehow it’s been well over half a year since I set up this account. As I look towards easing my way into this new year and to finally find some more time to write, I’m excited by the prospect of sharing some words and returning to writing through this space.
A little bit about me and what to expect here…
From writer to marketing consultant, from poet to mother, from florist to font geek, from holder of space to brownie baker, I am a wearer of many hats and have always been drawn to the power of words and stories.
I love to dive behind the everyday ordinary and find something extraordinary. You can read a little bit more about me here.
With Rainbows in Washing Lines, I’m excited to see where it takes me (which sounds a little strange under a paragraph about what to expect here!). And while I’m not 100% sure how things will unfurl or unfold in this space, I’m looking forward to the prospect of experimenting and exploring and to finding some joy again in the act, art and craft of writing. Last year was a very wild and strange year for me personally and my own writing had to take a bit of a backseat, yet while my own creative output has slowed, I have drawn so much comfort from tiny spurts and bursts of writing.
I hope that with this space, I can provide a cloud gap and invitation to write (more on that soon) and a space to share my enthusiasm for writing. You’ll also have the opportunity to join some of my workshops as well as read some longer form pieces, poetry and more.
But, why ‘Rainbows in Washing Lines’?
In September 2019, our family relocated to Portugal for work, it was the chance for us to spend more time together and an opportunity for an adventure. Little did we know what lay ahead. Just six months into living there the pandemic arrived and our life became very small and incredibly insular.
During the deepest darkest depths of the first lockdown, when we were stuck in our flat caught between homeschooling and zoom calls, my attention was drawn outside the kitchen window. We lived in a borough near the centre of Lisbon and our apartment block was nestled among a hodgepodge of flats, vacant buildings and random patches of wasteland. Our kitchen overlooked a very dilapidated building in which lived an elderly couple.
Everyday, around the same time, was laundry time for my neighbour. She was meticulous and deft, hanging it out underneath her window sill. The squeaking of the washing line signalled the start and the winding of the crank as the line taughtened signalled its end. It was a familiar and comforting bracket to an otherwise monotonous day.
Pre-lockdown I didn’t really spend much time looking out of our kitchen window, there was always something to do. But during the strictest lockdowns it was where I spent most of my time, rooted to my metre squared spot by the sink. A square of silence, of solitude, a spot to stand away from the video calls and the latest homeschooling battle that has played out that morning with thrown lego, tears and tantrums. It was a spot to ponder in, to wash my hands for the umpteenth time. It was in this small square, I found that as time slowed that the groundhog grind awoke my senses to my surroundings. Amid the anxiety-laced nights and muddled mornings of juggling school and work, standing for a moment in my little square was a pocket of space and a real solace.
I had noticed our neighbour often but one day something was different.
The normally deft execution was slowed and I watched intently as she carefully hung the laundry in colour coordination —a criss-cross rainbow against the grey. The colours and slow determination of each movement drew me out of my malaise and made me smile. In defiance of this—one of the most mundane of tasks—she created a small rainbow of hope.
That little rainbow came as a little gift and a moment of light through the dark.
Ever since then it is something I have carried with me, how something magic can be made out of one of the most ordinary of tasks.
How creativity and art can be found in the everyday.
So, it is in the spirit of Rainbows in Washing Lines that I want to approach this space.
Taking a moment to share the joy, wonder and awe in the everyday things that otherwise get overlooked.
Ways to get involved
Calliope’s Writers
A community of mothers making time, space and energy for writing.
Join
and I over in Calliope’s Writers Community for mothers who write. Calliope's Writers brings together mothers who write (or want to write) anything from novels, books and personal essays to memoirs, tales and poetry.Calliope was the eldest of the Muses. She was also a mother. Her name means ‘beautifully voiced’. Since its launch in lockdown, 2020, this community has been a modern-day muse; a source of mutual inspiration, understanding and support that helps us stay in touch with our writing despite the distractions and interruptions of family life.
Inside Calliope's Writers, you will find...
Honest conversations about how writing happens (or doesn't happen) amidst family life.
A place to claim your need to write without feeling like an imposter and begin (or continue) to make space for it.
Small group co-writing sessions bracketed by a little chat and a mindfulness exercise to transition into writing.
Replays of workshops and occasional guest speakers.
Regular prompts to take a moment to nourish your creativity by journalling, talking about what you're reading, writing a haiku, or ranting in Capslock!
An online community designed to enrich, shielded from the distraction and addiction of noisy social media platforms.
Head to Calliope’s to find out more.
Solo Writing Retreats for Women
Book a Solo Writing Retreat at our home in Cornwall to give yourself the time and space to write. Aimed at anyone who needs some time and space to concentrate on their writing or creative project, the retreats are intended to provide a pocket of space to write and are individually tailored with curated resources, treats and a special welcome pack. You can find out further info on my website.
Cloud gaps
In each newsletter, I’ll share a little moment to help spark and inspire your writing. I like to call them cloud gaps, a moment of clearing when the cloud parts and the light comes trickling back in… I look forward to sharing my first one in my next post over the weekend.
Thanks so much for reading.
Lucy x
Welcome you! 🌈💜
Your square metre by the sink reminded me of Anne Lamott's viewfinder technique. I'm assuming you know it?