Where it all started

I haven't been 'home' since the end of 2018.

When I left the UK, I never expected to be away this long. But back then, I had no idea what I wanted to do. I just needed to get away. A moment of escape and self identity and figure things out for myself.

Now?

I miss the trees and the green fields and that starling that would 'chip, chip, chip' outside my bedroom window in such an annoying high-pitched alarm for me each morning.

I miss the cry of the red hawks that would fly over our house, and I miss trips to the beach with my dad. That even though the wind was cold and biting at times (especially near my grandma's house up north!), it was the most refreshing and soul cleaning thing I can remember.

Yes, those around me now wouldn't believe we wore wellies on the beach. Or have to pour a whole jug-load of water out of them after.

I miss walks in the deep woods and the hills and glens like we used to have when I was a child. Where I'd daydream I was part of Robin Hood's gang, and that probably was what started off making up my own wild worlds that build the foundation of my books now.

I miss our trips to Scotland and Cornwall. Hairy cows with horns as big as my arm.

Castle ruins and dungeon explorations that terrified and thrilled me, and drawing old churches on country lanes when my dad drove me out to draw them for my art projects.

Being terrified of bulls as we walked through their fields to get to the other side, trying to avoid the cowsh*t everywhere.

Heavy coats and boots I'd have moaned about at the time to keep the cold away, that I'd cherish now because honestly I can't imagine my identity without trousers and some kinda shirt or layer.

You can take the girl from the wild islands, but you can't take the wilds from the girl.

Wild woods and hills and eldritch creatures walking through shadows in the night, and people hiding in the dark before they were taken by the creatures of our old stories.

Folklore is harsher there, but that's the best part. Sitting on a school bus and seeing the frost glitter in the weak morning sunlight as it rose over patchwork fields, and wondering if other creatures really were out there like our old stories told.

I never expected to be away this long, and now it's starting to hit me.

We planned to go back for a bit this year. Visit family. Show them my son. Introduce them properly to my husband. But life has other plans. Money. Global disaster (again). Life things.

For those I haven't seen in so long, I'll come back soon. Let's spend lots of time outside! And I want to take so many pictures of places I dream of seeing and miss.

Until then, you'll see this bleed more into my books. An incredible homesickness and nostalgia, and perhaps an envy for my own characters.

Because this is where it all started. An outdoor hillwalking family, and trips to the rustic wild places of my home country. Being raised on old Celtic fairytales and folklore, and a dad who told us ghost stories as we drove under big scary bridges.

Is it any wonder my stories become as they are?