Dear friends,
Now we are in December, I am lost in the allure of midwinter celebrations, and I don’t think I’m alone. The darkening days seem to create an atmosphere of community, at least here by the sea, as nature makes itself the centre of attention. In recent weeks we’ve had floods, heavy winds, sun coming with bursts of rain, urging me to look frantically for rainbows. And then there was the blizzard, a sudden shock of snow. The high shrubs in my tiny garden buffeted to pieces as I ached for where my regular sparrows hid and clung on to their feeders.
Even my flat, part of a high-ceilinged Victorian house, is full of eldrich creaks and mysterious noises. There is a sealed off basement below my flat, something that has always intrigued me, and being the way I am, sometimes imaginative beyond safety, I like to think of what still lurks there, where once, I assume, there were servants.
The flood we had was not like something on the TV, those stock clips of cars moving gingerly through level streets, dirty spumes lifting each side. It’s close-up and personal, and because I live on a hill that runs down to the seafront eight minutes away, when the water comes it comes hard, and the road turns into a patchy river. Last week it was torrential, and bizarre human detritus floated towards the sea and the overfilled drains, which really didn’t stand a chance. There’s usually a toy, vapes, a used, disposable nappy. But also, as if reminding us what nature thinks about it all, there’re stones of different sizes, lost plants, straggly weeds, a strange, sludgy silt. Perhaps this is the famous Sussex mud, much noted in antiquarian literature?
As we now hit darkness around four p.m., I enjoy the cosiness of my flat and the greetings of neighbours putting up the festive holly garland on the door, acquaintances along the road commenting on my fairy lights (a seasonal favourite of mine). I can ignore the dreadful push of commercialism, the efforts of Christian reminders, and rest into the peaceful arms of wintering with friends. I believe this crosses generations and cultures. The moving towards the darkest time together and looking further to when the light returns. If health allows, I always light a candle on the winter solstice. I like the combination that it is, as such, a scientific fact, alongside an awareness that human beings everywhere connect and come together to party and share, as we wait for when the days grow longer again.
My main news headline, which I hope some of you have seen already, is the online publication of my commissioned piece in The Bookseller. I’m proud of this, to make it into one of the publishing industry’s biggest news outlets. I’m writing about writing, and how long I have done it. How long I’ve simply had to do it, because storytelling is in the very fibre of my being. Naturally, it’s frustrating that I still have to point out my stories have value – that is, stories featuring clear, unapologetic and very visible disability. Any literary merit is up to others to judge, and that’s as it should be for all writers, but I know I do okay, and I also know there’s always more to learn.
Do look out on my social media for ‘Penny Pepper’s Almost Advent Calendar’ where I’m sharing links to me performing, reading and website work including this piece, Little Feet on Pett Level Beach, which combines many of my loves – living near the sea, nature, how I fit into it as a child, and now as a mature disabled woman, and fond memories of my father, who introduced me to the natural world but died when I was very young.
Health remains challenging. I often feel like a lone sailor in a tiny boat, having to navigate a rough sea on my own, with occasional hands on-board that I appreciate greatly. There’s no bravery in this story, truly. There’s defiance, frustration and the grind of when chronic ill-health pushes you through a particular stormy patch which wipes out everything else you might want to do. Only I can ride these waves in the end, and I always will because there’s so much else around me that I enjoy and that I burn to do.
That I burn to write.
I limit myself in not looking too far forward, or drowning in social media which rarely touches on the good things outside of the greed and hate that seems to be suffocating our world. Of course I care. Obscenely rich and powerful men are involved in creating a world where children – children! – are dying. Who are pushed into illness, and to live a life of disability that is in these instances, entirely manmade.
I always care. But I’ve learnt the hard lesson – it’s one I’m still learning – that I have a quota of energy and I must use it wisely. Words are my thing. I’ll keep using them, and I will share more soon.
Wishing everyone many midwinter blessings and deepest appreciation for your support, here on my Substack.
Thank you all,
Penny
Perhaps as a festive gift, you’ll grant me your ongoing patronage – a one-off paid subscription, or a single Ko-fi, would be deeply appreciated. And, as usual, shares are most welcome. Look out for other news over the next few weeks on my social media.
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