charles barrow's writing

Looking for a bit of writing inspiration? A writing prompt to kick-start some ideas? Here are two photographs that I took that will hopefully help. The first is a glimpse through an open doorway and down a summer garden path. The second is an open gate into an autumnal walled garden, the greenery belies the fact it was taken in November. I'm always intrigued by an open doorway leading from one environment into another; indoors to out, from the open street into an enclosed garden. A glimpse of a garden will especially spark my imagination. Shades of A Secret Garden, Tom's Midnight Garden, and even hints of Narnia. A pathway, leading off into the distance, draws the eye towards an unseen destination, where is it heading to? What awaits me at the other end of that path? Is it something I want and need, will be delighted by? Or will it turn my world on its head, so that I rue the day? To lead someone down the garden path is to hoodwink, trick and fool them. But to wander down a win...

Autumn seems to have arrived very suddenly, seemingly all at once in the last few days. The wind and the heavy rains are dragging leaves off the trees and heaping them into soggy piles on the pathways, making a trip to the local shops a slippery and treacherous affair. And a lot of fungi, enjoying the damp and still relatively warm air, are sprouting in the verges around tree stumps, and giving off the earthy scent of decay. Indoors, I'm dusting off fat church candles, to help light the dark corners of the room at night, and shaking out the thick sofa throws I'll use for extra warmth and to draft-proof myself on the sofa in the evenings. I've already made my first pot of minestrone soup of the season, and will be swapping out my summer salads for bowls of macaroni cheese, and veg chilli in the coming days.  At the end of the week, at 2am on Sunday, the clocks will go back one hour, and the nights will draw in alarmingly quickly, and daylight will be all but done by 5.30pm. ...

I've talked about 'Victober 'on here before, though to my surprise I find it was back in 2022. It's a BookTube event that takes place during the month of October, when readers are encouraged to read a book published by a UK author in the Victorian era - during the reign of Queen Victoria 1837-1901. The last time I took part in this challenge, or at least the last time I wrote about it on my blog was in October 2022. That year I read Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, and The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson. This year I will be choosing one of the books from the stack pictured below. Sorry the photo is a little murky and the book titles a little hard to read, but the books pictured (from bottom to top) are: Doctor Thorne by Anthony Trollope, David Copperfield by Charles Dickens, Ivanhoe by Walter Scott, and The Sign of Four by Arthur Conan Doyle. Last time I took part in this challenge I didn't follow the letter of the rules and I may not ...

In the latest instalment of my 'Visit Famous Writers' Homes - in the hopes that some magic writing dust will fall onto my shoulders', I took a trip to Shakespeare's Birth Place.   After my summer outings to Virginia Woolf's home, Monk's House, and Vita Sackville-West's stately pile at Sissinghurst, I finally ticked Stratford Upon Avon, birth place and life long home to William Shakespeare, off my bucket list. I mean, if you want to sweet-talk the writing muse then you really have to visit the stomping ground of the OG and Godfather of writing, don't you? I thought Stratford Upon Avon was a complete delight. From the narrow cobbled streets, flanked with Tudor buildings, to the large open grassy areas full of broadleaved trees, beside the slow running River Avon, there is something of interest around every corner. The huge theatre that is home to the Royal Shakespeare Company. Bronze statues of Lady Macbeth, King Hal, and Hamlet. Buskers quoting The Bard...

This plant caught my eye. It's growing in the barest scrape of dirt in the road by the kerb, and I marvel at its tenacity to survive and flourish against all the odds. But I kind of resent it too. I lavish care and attention on some of the plants in my border. They get a good grade multi-purpose compost, a seaweed feed, and regular weeding, and yet they don't look anywhere near as healthy, nor floriferous as this neglected weed. But this weed did spark some thoughts. I'm going to wrestle to draw a parallel now, between the fact of this weed thriving in the gutter, and one of my writing projects. I can lavish much care and attention on a story idea. I can visit with it everyday for months, make notes, do research, write a draft, revise said draft, and even so, it will ultimately wither and perish. But then again, I can make a few scant notes on another story idea, throw the notebook into a drawer and forget about it for many months, sometimes even years, and then I'll su...

Last week, in the company of dear friends, I was lucky enough to visit two beautiful English gardens, blooming in the June sunshine. Luckier still these gardens were attached to two different, very slightly 'stately', homes, once owned by two wonderful women writers. The first was Monk's House, in Sussex. A 17th century retreat, once owned by Virginia Woolf and her husband Leonard. The few rooms in the house that we were allowed to walk through were gloomy, and atmospheric, and fascinating. But the room of real interest was Virginia's writing room. It was in a large summer house, set apart from the main house, further down the garden, amongst fruit trees and cottage garden borders. Unfortunately visitors weren't allowed to enter the room, but could gaze into it through large windows set in three sides of the building. The room was full of items that had once belonged to Virginia, and were arranged around the room, and on the desk, as if the room was still in use and...