Rather lovely, aren't they? The thing is, the woods call to me constantly, and it's rather distracting. The sounds, sights and smells permeate my writing - when I get any done.
And then there's all the gorgeous materials in my study...or as I think I need to call it now, my studio. Who could ignore these gorgeous colours?
It's fine when I am writing about crafts. In fact, I have been commissioned to write a new series of heritage craft books, which is very exciting. But when I have fiction to write, it is a little more difficult. I pause, and catch sight of new silk bundles, or my carding machine, or some rose fibre...and hours later, my writing is still neglected.
So, that drastic action I mentioned? I have signed the papers today for a writing cubby in the centre of Newcastle. It has a very different view, but no less charming.
I can see The Theatre Royal, Newcastle Central Library - very fitting, for a writer - and Grey Street, voted one of the most beautiful streets in the country at one point.
More important than the view, though, is the fact that my new writing room is part of a performing arts hub. People there are creating and devising new work all of the time. Stories are being crafted, spun, sifted and polished. Creative energy fizzes in the air. I love it. I can't wait to add my ingredients to that creative 'stew,' and the stories are scratching to be let out.
But what if they refuse to emerge? I feel as though I am on the edge of a sheer drop - and not just because my new space is on the sixth floor! What happens if I fall? I can't let myself be held back by a fear of failure though; where's the thrill in that? So I am taking a leap into the future, with my eyes on the horizon. I have faith that my words will hold me up, like a crystal net - and who knows? I may even learn to fly.