Bees

Fertilisation

My garden, such as it is, has been thoroughly neglected lately, and by lately I mean “over the last six months, while I work near-constantly on this whole writing business.”

I like plants, but my pleasure comes mostly from looking at them or eating them; I don’t have a strong interest in gardening-as-gardening, the part where you get interested in collecting varietals or designing a perfect aspect. Over the summer, I applied water to my existing plants when it seemed like a good idea, planted some herbs to replace the herbs that died last summer (they… also died), pulled out an occasional weed when I had a moment, and otherwise let the whole project flourish or fail under a policy of benign neglect.

My reward has been lavender. There are masses of little bushes, poking up from under the gravel that was laid over the garden when my house-to-be was put up for sale. For a year the lavender rested, and then it sprouted, colonising the stony gaps between the sturdy roses and unassuming primroses.

I was uneasy at first; I have a mild lavender allergy, which means I have to avoid it in skincare products and bougie cupcakes. But the variety in my garden is lightly scented and causes me no difficulty. Autumn swung to winter weather a few weeks ago, and then back again, so in these warmer days there are bees in the lavender, diligent and focused, making the most of this unplanned, unexpected bounty.

This is probably a metaphor for the creative process, if you care to draw one, but mostly it’s delightful.

Fibre arts

Book launch weeks are hectic, as I try to balance the crucial processes of “letting people know I have a book out and they can buy it” and “not irritating the living snot out of everyone following my socials”.

It was a relief to sit down on Sunday morning to watch the first episode of the ninth season of the Great British Sewing Bee. Ten amateurs “compete”, in the gentlest sense possible, for the distinction of being Britain’s best home sewer. It’s the kind of reality TV where, instead of bitchily confessing that they didn’t come to make friends, the competitors hug each other while they’re leaving and tearfully say, “It was all worth it! I’ve made such lovely friends!”

If you check the Wikipedia page for the show (which I do approximately 80 times a week in the off-season, in case there’s an update about when the next season will be airing) you will note that there are SO MANY international spin-offs. Argentina has “Corte y confección” (Cut and Confection). The Netherlands has Door Het Oog Van De Naald (Through the Eye of the Needle). Sweden has “Symesterskapet” (Sewing Championship, which just… come on, Sweden.)

But does New Zealand have a Great Kiwi Sewing Bee? We do not!

If we ever do, I am absolutely auditioning. Pick me! I’ll be the contestant who gives great face and has a thing about florals. I’ll say a few snappy one-liners and laugh with the host, while also being far too ambitious for my talents.

For eight seasons I have been saying things like “who wouldn’t practice French seams before they got on the show?” and “always read all the instructions beforehand!” and I really think it’s time karma got a good shot at me. Put me in, coach! Let me deal with twisted zippers! Show me struggling with the ramifications of a poor fabric choice! Watch me totally freak out in the transformation challenge when I’m asked to construct an elegant evening gown from a tablecloth!

I promise, I’ll be there to make friends.

If you decide you wish to watch the Bee, I suggest doing so with a textiles-based chore at hand. Folding laundry, ironing, or sewing a button back on are all so much more pleasant with this kind of company. On Sunday, I fixed a ripped seam and folded a huge pile of clothes, while the contestants made a twist-front top, turned business suits into garments that showed their personality, and constructed made-to-measure dresses for their models, complete with one of those special moments where someone makes a huge mistake and everyone rallies around to help.

I was sitting alone at home, but I felt part of a community. Is it hyperbolic to call a TV show free mental healthcare? Well, I’ll be hyperbolic, then. After a stressful week, it did me a world of good.

Book Stuff:

• Persephone in Bloom is out! Buy it here, read the first chapter here, and check your BookFunnel account for the free subscribers-only-exclusive novelette, Penelope Pops the Question. And if you’ve got a second, do drop a review at Goodreads or the e-marketplace where you purchased it!
• Bespoke and Bespelled, my witchy fiction novella about a competent costume designer/stitch-witch and her socially awkward movie star love interest is also available, for purchase and review!
• This newsletter audience grows a little bit every week. If you know someone who you think would enjoy it, please feel free to share!

And finally: I’ve been having trouble with a couple of plot points in the Persephone sequel Aphrodite Unbound — nothing too thorny, but the kind of thing where I’ve worked out X needs to happen, but haven’t quite figured out where Y fits in. I went for a walk along the river to untangle the knots and took a couple of photos I thought worth sharing.

This city. These trees. God, I’m lucky.

I hope you have reason to find yourself equally fortunate this week!