An Ode To Walking

One of the biggest challenges I’ve had to get to grips with since becoming a full-time author is how to fit physical activity into my life. When writing was a stolen pleasure – an hour or two in an evening – it was never a problem. But once I was given the opportunity I’d always dreamed of, to make my living from making up stories, I soon discovered what a physical toll it took on me if I followed my inclination and simply sat and wrote for hours each day.

Like many writers, my true bliss is often to be found sitting down – reading, writing, dreaming up stories, chatting with a friend (very often about reading, and writing and stories!). Writing deadlines add to the compulsion.

But the creative engine is a sensitive and finely-balanced system. It depends on many things to function at its best: inspiration, good health, equilibrium and a sense of magic to name but a few.

For me, the solution is walking. I’ve always loved nature. As a child I would get lost in Enid Blyton’s Mistletoe Farm, Colin Dann’s Farthing Wood, William Horwood’s Duncton Wood.

Now I live on the Gower Peninsula of South Wales and I feel as if I’ve been magically transplanted into these stories. My nearest walks consist of country lanes and fields, estuary views and the call of a buzzard overhead. The wildlife I see leaves me speechless and awed: rabbits, pheasants, red kites, wild ponies, butterflies, once even a frog, hopping across the lane in front of me. 

There is something wonderful about having a regular walk that I do over and over again, like a meditation, and watching the familiar scenes change with the weather and through the seasons. My favourite time of day to walk is the morning. After a mug of green tea to wake me up, there’s something immensely special about stepping out into the morning hush.

Day after day, month after month, I see the world in every mood. As I write this at the end of August, I marvel at how quickly the hedgerows are turning from lush summer extravaganzas, full of honeysuckle and hedge roses, to Autumnal store cupboards of blackberries and rose hips. All too soon it will be winter. I’ll have to watch my step on frozen puddles and the hedges will be pared-back spikes. Then spring will come again, with primroses and lambs. 

There’s something at once immensely grounding and euphorically uplifting about experiencing the seasons at close quarters in this way. Both feelings are vital for me to do my best writing. As I walk, I take in the tiny perfect details – a robin, a clover – but here and there a sweeping view will take my breath away.

Again, both the small detail and the bigger picture are vital for powerful writing. As for inspiration! The word “inspire” literally means to breathe in. And I do. I gulp down the clear air (gasping my lungs out on the hills if I’m honest!) and any worries and stresses are dusted away, leaving me restored for a productive day. Plus, there are so many magical sights that connect me with an older, timeless world. An anvil, a log pile, a smoking chimney, two ponies in a field… As I walk past picture-perfect cottages I imagine the lives within. As I walk through a graveyard I wonder about the lives long-gone.

I haven’t always lived this country idyll. But even when I lived in London I loved to walk. There, the inspiration was very different but equally potent! Seeing shops full of beautiful things I couldn’t afford stoked my ambition and roused me from apathy. A fox dashing across the street at midnight was something unexpected and wild. The incredible melting pot of every kind of person was invigorating, suggesting stories and what-ifs at every turn. I used to have to dash into coffee shops to scribble down all my thoughts and impressions before I forgot them. There is a special kind of energy in a city that you can’t help but absorb; it fuels the stories lying dormant within.

And even when I lived in a quiet suburb, with neither the excitement of London nor the silent wonder of the countryside, still I walked, round and round the neighbourhood, and still ideas sprang forth. I’d pass the same old houses, but one day a bunch of balloons on a front door would signal a child’s birthday. At Halloween, tombstones would appear on front lawns and giant cobwebs would drape the windows. Neighbours would pass and complain about their aches and pains, while their dogs would stop for a bit of fuss. Wherever you are, walking means venturing out, seeing life at close quarters. It means your soul is being fed. 

There’s a huge temptation, both practical and emotional, for writers to bury themselves in work. It’s almost irresistible when we love it so much. But writing doesn’t exist in a void. It takes place in the context of a human life and I believe the two are closely linked. The richer the life, the richer the writing. The better we live our lives, the clearer our heads will be, the fuller our hearts, and this is what empowers us to do what we do. For me, walking is the foundation of that well-lived life. —

Tracy Rees was born in Swansea. She always wanted to be a writer and at the age of four she wrote her first (unfinished, unpublished) novel, The Adventures of Princess Tulip and her Friends. She studied languages at Jesus College, Cambridge, then moved to London. She worked in medical publishing for eight years then retrained and worked as a counsellor for people with cancer and their families for five years. She has also been a waitress, bartender, shop assistant, estate agent, classroom assistant, university lecturer and workshop leader. Tracy lives on the Gower Peninsula of Wales, dividing her time between Wales and London, where her partner lives. She was the winner of the Richard and Judy Search for a Bestseller competition and the Love Stories Best Historical Read award and was shortlisted for the RNA Epic Romantic Novel of the Year award.

Website: www.tracyrees.com

Twitter: @AuthorTracyRees

Instagram: @tracyreesauthor

 

Darling Blue 

Quercus £7.99

In their townhouse in Richmond, Blue and her family are as happy and close as can be, on the surface at least. But a tipsy toast by Blue’s father’s on her 21st birthday has unexpected consequences, while her stepmother harbours a secret regret.

With the arrival of a destitute young woman hoping to escape her abusive husband, they must finally confront the rifts that keep them apart. When they welcome Delphine into their home – and their hearts – they don’t imagine that she will bring them together in ways they never thought possible…

‘I loved the evocative atmosphere of the 20s, the lovely characters and gorgeous descriptions of nature/turning of the seasons’ 
Lucinda Riley

‘I’ve so loved Darling Blue by Tracy Rees. Her writing is so fresh and exuberant and the characters so warm and lovely. It’s a book full of sunshine, a real treat’ 
Rachel Hore

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