So, I write in books. It is a habit with me. I write in them constantly. I write down words, colours, flirts of language, movement, shift and light.
I am reading one of Sally Beauman's huge, gothic, ensorcelling novels right now (my birthday present to myself) and inside the back cover I have written phrases like 'finch green' and 'hummingbird's cup' and 'drift of wrinkles'. I do not remember writing them.
Yesterday, I found one of the research books I used for Nell. It was a book I had left here and had not taken back to Hawaii to use while I was writing. On the back page, amongst movie times and notes to call Virgin Atlantic, and to not forget Charlotte's birthday, I found more fragments of light and language. I had forgotten they were there. I had forgotten I ever wrote them.
But I recognized these phrases. I opened Exit the Actress and there they were. I love that these shreds of text survived my leaving them behind and forgetting them. They bided their time and then turned up on an island in the Pacific ocean while I was writing Nell; like gatecrashers at a birthday party...