And this morning the Shed is a mysterious apparition of a shed, etched on the kitchen tiles overnight, accompanied by the distant sounds of laughter from another room...
And this morning the Shed is a parasol pine at the edge of a quiet beach, with only the sound of the restless surf and the cries of the gulls as company...
And this morning the Shed is a small bistrot off the Boulevard Haussmann, with gingham tablecloths and noise, and the scent of coffee and fresh croissants, and linden blossom, and Gitanes...
And this morning the Shed is an armchair, perfectly positioned between a warm fireplace and a breakfast table laid with tea and hot buttered toast, and within easy reach of a stack of books and a nicely-stocked pantry.
What if Carrie White had lived? What if she married? Had children? What if her supernatural powers had come to her, not with puberty, but with menopause?
I'll be at the Oxford Litfest on Saturday, March 23rd, talking all things BROKEN LIGHT. Tickets here. https://oxfordliteraryfestival.org/literature-events/2024/march-23/a-writing-life
And this morning the Shed is a library of ancient books with faded spines, new books with scented pages, and books as yet-unwritten, agleam with possibility...
And this morning the Shed is a coffee shop, tucked away between the remains of an old movie theatre and an old fashioned hardware store; selling cheap breakfasts, hot buttered toast and huge brown pots of builder's tea...