Yesterday, while hiking through the scenic landscapes of northern England, I suddenly had this question in my head, whether I was a roving writer or a roving writer. I thought it didn’t really matter, the main thing was to walk and write. Of course, these terms sound better in English. I’ve already seen myself opening a second account on Insta, something with a walkingwriter or a writingwalker. Of course, I thought both terms were already occupied by someone else, but I could put my name on them, walkingwriteralice or something, I was going to post great landscapes and great quotes and… my imagination was going on. Then I walked into a bookstore, and I looked at this wonderful picture book sheds, very small huts, and sheds and stables, and my imagination was running. It would also be fine to thewritersshed or alicewritershed. I wanted to have such a cottage now and immediately. I was so overcome with grief that I remembered that the barn really did exist, and was even constructed. Maybe I’ll make it a writing stable, writer’s shed.
Then today, while hiking in the North Yorkshire Dales, I photographed about two million stone huts, and halfway through the trek, I learned at Keld School turned local museum that these were little cow sheds, cow huts, and pronounced cow sheds. This is where the people of these remote valleys keep their cattle for the winter, distributed throughout the valley. By the way, this is another story – winter. Among other things, the photos were shown at the Moker Art Gallery, two-thirds of which felt as if they had been taken in the winter. I still notice this in my travels: Even in areas where it snows once every three years, there are… right… pictures of snow. There is also a skating club in Kendall, a small town between the Yorkshire Dales and the Lake District.
Back to today’s hike: On the way we also passed by an abandoned farmhouse, Crackpot Hall. You can read about this in the museum: «When local historians and authors Mary Hartley and Ella Pontefract visited in the 1920s, the farm was still living there. They meet the farmer’s daughter, four-year-old Alice, with a swamp frenzy. About her and all warned them. This child, with her ironic laughter and laughter, seemed as untamed to them as her only home.” Now guess where we authors get our ideas. So if one of my following books featured Mrs. Pontifact and the Mad Swamp Girl and her very own laugh, this column would have warned you. And yes, the girl’s real name was Alice.
There were moments in our travels through the rugged plateaus and endless wilderness when I wondered if one could live here without the soul dying of thirst or simply dying of loneliness. And how strong are you to bear all this? These are the moments when I get very close to the characters in my Lost Souls series. And sometimes, when I get lost in my thoughts, reality and imagination fade away; Then I can be anything, including a character in my books.
It will continue tomorrow. without hiking. Sadly we left Dales and Lake and continued on to Wales. I have a hunch that this, too, could be a potential place for a book. And I’m pretty sure the ideas will come to me there. Including hiking.
Finally, a tip for everyone who loves hiking: enter the term “hiking quotes” into the search engine and let yourself fall into the quotes. I recommend using the English link, because searching with the German term “wandern” unfortunately produces more crap sayings.
Then another writing tip for young people (please read the English version): “Carrying the Universe” by Jennifer Niven. More on that in one of the following columns.