『The Third State of The Nest Address』のカバーアート

The Third State of The Nest Address

The Third State of The Nest Address

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 IntroductionSometimes, a thing becomes a habit almost by accident. I’ve never been one for looking at a year from the point of view of our manufactured calendrical New Year, a retrospective which never seems to fit, to me. Instead, I like to look for different places to mark the passing of time (obviously, the solstice is the beginning of the year, right?). Seasons, macro and micro, or anniversaries which only really have relevance for me (or even future ghost dates, as I discuss here).　　The 25th of November is one such date. This marks the point when I started sharing a newsletter with regularity, back in 2019, when we still lived in Thailand and were preparing to move to Portugal (which, for those of you who don’t know, we did, securing an apartment in rural Alentejo less than two weeks before the first Covid lockdown [after a Christmas in Scotland and New Year in England—a New Year when I was very, very sick, with something suspiciously proto-covid-esque]. Unlike many other nomadic or travelling types, we stayed where we were, in Portugal, rather than heading back to our home nation/nations. It was a strange year, to be in a new-to-us country, but not really to be there in the normal way). Take advantage of 20% off the price of a subscription, locked in for as long as you subscribe, an offer I’m sharing to celebrate six years of this letter.When I started this letter, it was a way to keep in touch with family and friends, whether old friends, or those I had met on travels, or whilst living on a different continent, let them know what we were doing or, for example, try to describe how it feels to wake up early and feel the jungle breathing behind our house: At this time of year, in this place, the mountain exhales at night. Her breath is cool and descends to the city below, bringing with it the scent of the deep, dark places she hides, of lush flowers and constant decay, accompanied by a whisper of secrets and charms. The nights end still in darkness, when the monks in the temple begin their chants and ring their bell or strike their gong, setting off a daily cascade of soi dogs, each howling their welcome to the day, barking their devotion. The sun rises some hours later, tropical-swift, giving only slightly less daylight than in the middle of summer, framed by the harsh calls of myna birds and the roar of the waking airport.or perhaps talk about Selkies:Some stories are so deeply entwined with a place that it is impossible to untangle them. Whenever I hear of selkie stories I cannot place them anywhere else in my mind’s eye but Orkney. Those selkies—Orcadian selkies—they don’t travel. They stay close to their shores, even as their tales spread far and wide. After all, in the Orkney dialect, selkie simply means seal, there is no difference between those who can walk ashore and those who cannot—technically, they all possess that option.or offer a personal perspective on travel, and how it entwines with my fiction:I am first and foremost a writer, and travel adds substantial depth and substance of flavour to my words, my stories both real and made up. My series of fantasy novels and novellas—The Lesser Evil—are undoubtedly considerably richer thanks to my own travel experiences.We writers are hoarders of observation, keeping notes, remembering the little details. These things are stored away until they reappear, subtly altered, percolated, ready to enhance a story.Since those first few tentative steps into sharing my words in this manner, I’ve sent over 300 letters. (I completely missed the 300th, by the way, an anniversary which went uncelebrated—this is the 308th letter [or 309th, if you are listening to the podcast version].) Given that the majority of these letters amount to several thousand words each, that is a lot, mostly shared for free.In time, I began to share more about my fiction, then promote and market such, utilising this letter as a part of that process. A wee while later, I began to move essays from the websites I ran and the other locations my virtual self inhabited over the years, eventually starting to craft new pieces exclusively for this space, Substack effectively replacing my websites. As you will see below, I am now at the point where I am once more moving things back to a platform I control (but keeping and expanding this space too, for now), circling around, always reconsidering what is best for my words.Today, as I edit this piece, there are 2364 subscribers to The Crow’s Nest, and 5193 followers over on Substack Notes. I am in awe of these figures and so very grateful to each and every one of you who reads my words—even if you only skim and/or look at the photographs, that’s perfectly valid, too! And, introduced recently, there’s also those of you who listen to my words, as recorded by me, something that, not too long ago, I did not really think I would ever be able to do (I still don’t like the sound of my recorded voice, but I can...
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