charles barrow's writing

I like visiting graveyards, churchyards, cemeteries, call them what you will. I find them fascinating. They are full of stories, if you pause long enough to witness them, and I find that inspiring. I've posted photos of headstones, and gravestones here before. They have often had a quirk to them, of size, shape, or style. This one is different in as much as it's been cracked wide open by the tree growing through it. The tree roots have shattered the stones. I mentioned, in a previous post, that it wasn't unknown for people to be buried clutching an acorn, so that even in death they might feed and nourish an oak tree to grow out of the heart of them.    Photo is the author's own

I went in search of Peter Pan. The statue of Peter Pan, that lives in Kensington Gardens, the large green space in London that used to be the private gardens of Kensington Palace, but are now freely accessible to all. If your image of Peter is got solely from Walt Disney's 1953 animated film Peter Pan, then you'll picture a young boy dressed in Lincoln Green - tights and jerkin, with pixie boots and a cap with a jaunty feather. I mention Lincoln Green, specifically, because Peter's outfit calls to mind that other folk lore/fictional character, depicted in many a film, Robin Hood, who dressed in that particular shade of green. You'll see the resemblance between Peter's outfit and that of Errol Flynn's Robin, in the live action 1938 film, and also the same character, as played by a fox, in Disney's own animated Robin Hood from 1973. So my mental image of Peter Pan resembled nothing so much as a pint sized version of the outlaw from Sherwood Forest. Poster imag...

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...

I've been enthralled by Green Planet, David Attenborough's latest triumph, currently being screened by the BBC. The production values are just gorgeous, as we've come to expect from these films, but the stories behind the plants that we get up-close and personal with are just extraordinary. I've been watching it on my own but, at least twice in every program, I've asked the TV (and any other piece of furniture that might be listening) 'How the actual Dickens does the plant know to do that?' If it wouldn't alarm my elderly neighbours, I'd be shouting the question. What has been prompting this? Well, here's an example, we've seen a type of grass in Africa that needs its seed to be buried in the soil swiftly, in order to avoid it lying on the ground for any length of time in the extreme heat. So, it disguises its seeds as antelope dung in the hopes that the local dung beetles will roll the seeds away and bury them...at the perfect depth needed f...

I'm dealing with a few health issues at the moment. This is a very dull situation to be caught up in. Thankfully I'm not ill enough to take to my bed, but neither am I well enough to fully participate, or that's how it feels on a daily basis. Consequently, there has been little writing getting done. My focus just isn't up to the task. I can still make notes though; jot down story ideas, outline characters, imagine scenes and situations. And I can still take photos that prompt questions. Photo is the author's own.  

Here is an image that really intrigues me. Saw this book, on the railway line, on my morning walk to work. Annoyingly I couldn't see what the book's title was. Maybe I should say, intriguingly I couldn't see what the book's title was. It could actually have been a notebook rather than a novel. It looks artfully arranged there, rather than tossed randomly from a passing train window. It is pristine, not at all scuffed. Was it unloved and discarded, or is it missed and mourned? Did the owner have to get rid of the evidence it contained? Is someone else now searching for it? Images like this make really great prompts for stories. Photo is the author's own.

I love autumn. I know many people find it melancholic, marking the end of summer as it does, but I love its sights, colours, sounds, and smells. It always lifts my spirits. I've been having a hard time of it lately. I've been struggling with depression and anxiety, brought on by a torrid time at work.  My writing has fallen by the wayside over the last months, and I've not been able to summon the energy to do much about it.  But autumn has been working its magic and I find myself slowly resurfacing and feeling interest in my surroundings and with a sense of urgency about the future. Below are a few of the images that I've been posting to Twitter, on the theme of autumnal. I suppose taking these, and other, photos has been my creative outlet while I've been incapable of writing anything. Photos are the author's own.

I took this picture 15 years ago. I was walking home from work, along my usual route, and I saw this piece of graffiti, which had appeared overnight, and it stopped me in my tracks. I remember it made me feel uncomfortable to linger in front of it, I felt like a voyeur witnessing the miserable end of someone's relationship, and I felt very guilty taking this photo and freeze framing their pain and despair. It is such a personal message to Theresa from the wo/man who wrote it and yet it's been very publicly declared. All these years later this kind of thing would pop up in someone's Twitter feed, but back then graffiti was about the only option for posting a message to reach an audience. Although the graffiti appeared on a wall only two minutes away from where I lived at the time, I had no idea who the people involved were. I have to assume that Theresa lived nearby and would walk past this wall on a regular basis, perhaps this is even the wall of her house, otherwise what...

February is nearly done and dusted, and it's been a busy month for me. I have been doing a lot of editing, re-writing of At Day's End, Book 3 and I'm pleased with the way that's going but my self imposed deadline is looming and I'm getting a bit panicky under the collar. Is it possible to get panicky under the collar? If so, I am. But my February mind has also been full of other distractions, inspiring stuff that has been sparking my imagination; the song Human by Rag 'n' Bone Man for one. I was in a cafe with a friend and this began playing on a music show on the TV in the corner of the room and our conversation just stopped. We just stopped talking to listen. It's so rare that a piece of music, a voice can do that for me nowadays but this song had that ability. It's been playing on repeat at home ever since. Amazing. A book title caught my eye; The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie by Alan Bradley. What a great title. I believe it's a crim...

You know when you know what a word means but are sometimes at a loss to explain it? Well that was the case with 'Epilogue' and I today. The online dictionary I just checked says that it's the concluding part added to a literary work, but it also says that it's a speech delivered by one of the actors after the conclusion of a play. Now, those seem to be slightly different things; a conclusion in a novel, but another piece after the conclusion of a play. Perhaps it's possible that it is both. Either way, I've been considering an epilogue for John Mann - At Day's End. Now obviously if I include one it would have to serve a solid purpose like finish the story, add depth or colour, or look to a new beginning. I actually visualised an epilogue right back at the beginning of the writing of this story but then lost enthusiasm for the idea. And then recently I went out on a day trip and saw a telegraph pole with some coding carved into it (see picture below) and ...

A cold winter walk through a grey London park was hugely brightened by this unexpected sight. A flash of emerald green, a visitor who stayed to make a home here, and very welcome too. Photo is the author's own.

Further to my Joyland post below; the ultimate big wheel - or The London Eye to give it its official name - to be found on the South Bank of the Thames in London (I've posted a photo of it previously). This boy is huge. I took a ride in one of those glass pods years ago and the view of the City from the top of the wheel is incredible. It revolves very slowly and doesn't stop, so you enter and leave your pod while the wheel is still turning. It's the ultimate funfair ride, albeit at a walking pace, I don't do thrills and spills. I don't recall the Eye being used as a location in either films or books, though I'm sure it must have been. One of those glass pods would make a great place for a lovers' tryst (think Sleepless in Seattle atop the Empire State Building), or an exchange of information in a tale of espionage (imagine James Bond trapped in one of those pods with a ninja assassin). Hitchcock would have put it to good use without a doubt. ...

I wrote a post recently (see 'ponder and mull' below) extolling the virtues of staring into space, daydreaming. I'm satisfied to (re)discover that someone I have a lot of time for, Julia Cameron, says we shouldn't feel bad about doing this and we should consider it a way of refilling the well of creativity. That is a great way to think of it, and I like this concept a lot. I would always listen to Julia's advice since I read her book The Artist's Way years ago. She really helped to focus my mind at a time when I wasn't so able to do so myself. I still write my 'morning pages' to help clear debris out of my mind and keep on the right track, I don't write them every day but maybe a couple of times a week. I'd really recommend checking out her books if you are stuck, have writer's block and can't move forward.

Gah, I missed my Halloween deadline. Is it too late to post photos of pumpkins? Of course not. These aren't carved into ghoulish and gruesome faces but presented straight off the vine as beautiful as nature intended. Nothing says Halloween like a pumpkin unless you count Freddy Krueger, Michael Myers, and flesh eating zombies. I don't actually clebrate Halloween. Perhaps 'observe' is a better word than celebrate. It seems to have bumped Guy Fawkes Night right off the calender and I'd much rather watch fireworks lighting the sky than the neighbourhood youth causing havoc door to door. Also I'm not good with horror. Blowing up Parliament? Fine. Who hasn't thought of doing that? But evisceration, murder, black magic, hauntings? No thanks. The last horror film I sat through was probably Friday 13th, the original one, it scarred me for life and I've avoided any scary film since. I read ghost stories occassionally, Victorian ones, I can handle 19th century h...

Another slightly odd statue. This one is recognisably David but in a campier incarnation, posing like a catalogue model with his jacket slung over his shoulder. Still, he looks great and his modesty is preserved by the foliage. Photo is the author's own.

Staring into space is something I do an awful lot of. My friend Jane, a very talented artist, says it's important for creative minds to spend time quietly thinking things over, it's an important part of the process. You aren't just staring idly into the middle distance you are turning and sifting ideas, wrestling with concepts, flexing and refining your craft. Thanks to this wise, and rather appealing, advice I never feel guilty when I'm watching clouds scud in from France, or leaves chasing each other along the pavement, or steam rising slowly from a coffee as dark as my four a.m. fears; I'm working hard damn it.

Number 1 in what would be a great series of Signposts I Never Expected to See on the South Coast of England. Photo is the author's own

I had to be very patient and sit very still in order to get this Jackdaw to come close. I like a Jackdaw. They are strutting little characters. I  like their silvery cap and black face. Plus they have pale grey eyes which sometimes look blue in certain lights. In my current John Mann story (the one still in progress) I do have a character called Jack but not Jackdaw as I thought that was too on the nose. Photo is the author's own

I am intrigued by this picture. It's part of a hoard of found photos (or rather, a stack of negatives found in a junk shop) and it was taken sometime in the 1920s or 1930s. For me it evokes Brideshead, the inter-war years, the River Thames, Oxbridge, but in all events a bygone era. And who is the young man with the serious face? He's gazing, not at the photographer but deep into his own thoughts. What is his story? His name? Who is he rowing and where? Did he have a happy life? Make it through the war that is coming? Or does he fall into that lucky generation that was too young for the first and too old for the second, like my grandfather. Though I don't think he saw it that way. Copyright, on the back of the postcard, is credited to Pavey and Gilbert and there is a web address www.paveyandgilbert.co.uk but Google can't find it. As far as I can discover Pavey and Gilbert were a London couple who probably took this picture, and more, their names were on the packets h...

...on shifting sand Photo is the author's own