Views while writing

As I’ve mentioned in previous works, I’m a writer (or I try to write and see where it gets me). Now, I thought I’d write a piece about my surroundings as I work. My office hosts drawers that store my two little girl’s clothing, a bucket list poster of books I want to read, the computer and desk that I usually use for my day job, statues from two of my favourite book series, ‘A Song of Ice and Fire’ (Game of Thrones for TV fans) and ‘Harry Potter’ (Harry Potter for movie fans); as well as canvas photographs of my children. The library? Well, that’s filled with posters, computers and books (in case you aren't familiar with libraries), while I have worked from time to time in my bedroom, but there’s nothing there that isn’t in most other bedrooms. I’ve also been known to spend time writing in various pubs, but each has their own unique décor, and it may require a separate piece of writing in itself (and a better memory) to do them justice.

Where I get the majority of my work done, however (kids at home and the day job make it difficult to find much time to work in the above places), is on the train, on the way to my day job, once a week. Oh, the sights, oh the sounds, oh the smells! OK, it’s not that smelly, at least I don’t think so (my sense of smell is not the best). The train boasts some lovely, dodgy, old-fashioned carpets, dinted, scratched cream window surroundings (frames?), and spotted furniture that transfixes me if I look at it for too long. Around me, you see all kinds of folk, from the chatty pensioners on a day out to that one person that’s drinking a little too early in the morning for my liking (although, who am I to judge?). There’s that one person who speaks on their phone like they're holding a fog horn, or the man that may or may not be stinking the carriage out with his flavoured chicken (OK, that’s me). Then there’s the confused guy that looks like he doesn’t quite know where he’s going (me again, but don’t worry, I know where I’m going… usually).

But that isn’t what you’re here for (or is it? Who am I to say? I’m just glad you’ve kept going for this long). In fairness, I’m just glad you’re here at all. Did you mean to come here? I suppose you could always leave, although I’d rather you didn’t. I know I’m here, at least I’m meant to be here, to write about the fantastic sights I’m party to as I work on my writing while riding the rails (which, incidentally, is what I’m doing right now). So, after my 400+ word digression, I will get to it. There are many, many trees to be seen on my journey. Trees of green, trees of red, yellow, brown and purple (depending on the season), bare trees, flourishing trees, big trees, small trees (am I still talking about trees?). I often see clusters of the things (trees, in case you didn’t realise that I was still talking about trees) and wonder what is lurking (or jumping, crawling, flying) among them. Are there many squirrels, owls or mice? Are there birds, snakes, worms? Is there a Gruffalo? Probably not.

OK, enough with the trees; now for the proper stuff. Out of my train window, there is much to be seen. There are hills of the tangliest weeds, there are buildings with as little roof as I’ve seen, and there are skips, stone piles and metal at what I can only assume are building yards. There are random bits of railing, parts of discarded track, bags of rubble, dirt and mystery; but behind them is where the true beauty of our country lies (OK, I guess that trees can be seen as beautiful, too). As I look beyond all that I’ve mentioned above, I see the most picturesque rolling hills that boast wonderful animals, including sheep, cows and horses. Far off rises show mysterious splendour, particularly when there’s fog around, while my night time trips offer up some mystery of their own, with differing lights in all directions, coming from towns, cities, villages and the like. I see some of the most beautiful old-style stone bricked houses, as well as similar looking bridges (with rivers flowing underneath) and walls. There are commanding castles off in the distance, and many charming churches to be seen.

What we can take from this, is that I will write whenever, wherever I get chance. This is my passion, this is what I hope will become my life; it is certainly what brings me the most fulfilment.

By Calum Dewsbury