You know you are a dreamer*

This picture ** hangs opposite me as I sit at my desk. My aunt Annabelle gave it to me when I was four. I was so proud of it. It had a proper wooden frame like a grown-up’s picture (and still does).*  I wrote my name and age on the back of the cardboard backing as a declaration of this pride and they’re still there.

    I love the picture itself too. It gives me permission to dream, to be a dreamer, to be the sort of person who lies on the grass and stares into space.

    It’s a pity then that I’m still struggling to give myself permission to be that sort of person.

    One of the hardest things I’m having to learn in my transition from book editor (paid by the hour for time spent with pen actually in hand poring over proofs and manuscripts) and non-fiction writer (always busy with research even if not writing) to
 - what? -
something else
is that time spent not writing can be just as productive as time spent pounding the keyboard.

    Half an hour ago I ran out of things to do so I lay down in the sun and had three ideas, including this post.
    See!

* Thanks to Frog for finding me the precise lyrics to the Supertramp song 'Dreamer' and for carefully removing the fragile nails (untouched for 56 years) from the back of the picture frame and sliding the picture out.

** By Margaret W Tarrant