Small World Archives - Shedwriting

October 9, 2025October 9, 2025

Mercy

There are cobwebs all over the place lately, in the writing shed, yes, but in the house too. I was cooking dinner the other day and had to sweep aside layers of cobweb to reach the olive oil on the top shelf (and could hear Granny’s horrified intake of breath) and admitted that I really should do a deep clean of the kitchen soon. It was like Miss Havisham’s attic. I’ve always loved spiders and feel terrible about vacuuming up their homes, double checking that everyone in the eight-legged family has moved out.

A few days later, while hanging out some laundry on a rare sunny day, I heard a loud humming noise, like a generator, coming from the writing shed. It sounded like a lot (a LOT) of buzzy insects. Sure enough, when I made my way towards the open door, I thought I saw a swarm of wasps. I stepped back and then just watched them. Hundreds and hundreds of honey bees, I soon realised on closer inspection, were clambering all over the desk and chair and roof, and despite an unconscious recoil of fear, I knew instinctively that they meant no harm. They were simply lost.

Perhaps they had moved with their queen to find a new home, or maybe they had been thrown out of the hive and had to find somewhere new to live. The noise they made! It was enthralling to watch. As twilight arrived a few hours later, I looked into the shed and saw that they had indeed moved on. New homes beckoned.

Like us humans, insects and arachnids need places to live, to find somewhere to call home. I’m always glad when I leave them in peace to continue their busy days. It’s a small thing, but making time to be part of their lives and watch their fascinating behaviour has been keeping me sane.

The world is not kind right now, abuse of power is normalised while compassion seems beyond our sights. But I know that in small ways all around the globe there are people who are full of love, who find meaning in holding the hand of a loved one, who seek first the good in another person. We don’t hear about this love, but it exists.

My inability to kill small creatures seems a kind of mercy in dark days. Kindness is not dead, it’s as quietly powerful as ever it was, and shouting cruelty will have its day soon enough. The pendulum swings.

July 17, 2025August 15, 2025

Love at First Sight

Photo by Raindrops Photography on Unsplash

When love comes knocking you’d better be ready. It usually arrives when you least expect it, when you’re not even looking, maybe when you’re soaked to the skin while running past a shop on the way to get some fancy local cheese. You’ll come to a sudden halt, stare at it in the window, and know, suddenly and clearly, that this is meant to be.

I’ve always believed that art can change our lives. It can reach those dark parts of our hearts that have long since closed. But cynicism, anxiety and a general helplessness about the world these days was starting to take over. I scoffed at small joys, I was suspicious about good news, and I even wondered if artists had had their day. And then a surprising moment with friends brought it all home – we need art now more than ever.

The weekend at the north coast was filled with good chats by the fire and long walks on the beach as we did the usual dance with the Northern Irish weather – coats on and off and then on again. It was all very lovely. And then after lunch one day we took off in the pouring rain to visit a local cheese shop (it’s what you do on holiday). All four of us were running through puddles when I suddenly noticed that we were now three, Adam was no longer there. We looked through our hoods to see him standing stock still in front of a shop window. What was going on? The answer is simple and one of the oldest answers in the world – he had fallen in love.

We soon saw that the wonky, cute (and downright odd) sculptures in the gallery window had thrown Cupid’s arrow, hitting their target right in the heart. Adam was a goner. We followed him inside, thinking that once the price was revealed he might change his mind, but nothing was going to stop him now. He happily parted with his hard-earned cash and took hold of the big cardboard box with an even bigger smile on his face. It was quite a moment.

Adam still has no idea why these little creatures connected so powerfully with him, he just loved them that rainy day, and loves them still. Every time he sees them on the windowsill he smiles. And it is enough. This is what art can do, and in a dark world it’s often the only light.

It’s no surprise that artists and writers are often top of the list when dictators are trying to rule. The world needs us more than ever. So we keep creating: we write, we paint, we sculpt. We tell the truth. And it feels like hope.

November 30, 2024November 30, 2024

Small Things Like These

Over the last few weeks I’ve noticed that I’m drawn to innocent things: toys, cartoons, Pixar movies – even the little lamp at the start hops its way into my weary heart.

The world is not in a good place right now and many of us are simply tired. Tired of hoping that goodness is paramount, that nations will step back from war. Tired of being disappointed when another bully wins or gets away with bad behaviour. Didn’t our mothers always tell us that life was the other way round? When did this rule change?

If my brain goes down these roads (and I try to tell it to stop) I end up picturing apocalyptic scenes with democracy lying dead in a ditch and books being burned and heavy boots stomping over people. Oh, and that’s if the earth is still even here. It’s too much right now. So I’m retreating from the news cycles (full of conditional tense and uncertainty anyway, I remind myself) and focusing instead on small things.

One of my favourite books, Small Things Like These by Claire Keegan, has been made into the most beautiful film. It’s quietly devastating. Harsh realities in a difficult world will always exist, humans can be cruel. And yet.

And yet, we are fundamentally good. The story is also a reminder that smallness is no such thing. There are moments of transcendence all around us and kindness often arrives from the most unexpected place.

My small things include but are not limited to: the feel of the wind in my hair when I’m looking for the stars, crisp winter mornings when a robin sings from the shed roof, a cat purring contentedly on my knee when the day is done.

It has meant a shift in the focus of my gaze but, little by little, the darkness is dissipating. We hold onto the things that matter, the things that will always prevail.

My small corner is quite simply filled with light.

August 14, 2024October 10, 2024

What, This Old Thing?

I was on a packed train recently, trying (as you do) to block out the noise from the other passengers. At one stop, a bunch of older teenagers got on and, needless to say, the noise level stepped up a notch. The boys were throwing things at each other and the girls were talking non-stop about exams coming up. I also couldn’t help but overhear some cruel remarks about another friend, sitting further down the carriage, and noted the heartbreaking lift of the chin as she tried to laugh it off.

My stop was approaching so I got ready to fight my way past, aiming a small smile in the teens’ direction (don’t antagonise them, I reckon, they don’t like it). Young people today and all that. But as I made my way to the door, one of the girls shyly pointed at my skirt and said “I love your outfit!”

For a moment I was too stunned to reply (I mean, I was wearing my red author beret, but still). I managed to mumble “thank you,” as I got off the train. Walking home (in my lovely outfit) I realised that I really don’t know how to accept a compliment. I either laugh it off or minimise it or disbelieve it entirely. And it turns out, this is really common.

Psychologists have pointed out that in response to a compliment we often deflect, reciprocate or discount. This helps us to cope with an unexpected focus on ourselves. Many of us tend to feel vulnerable in the spotlight so this makes sense. It’s easier to remove the compliment in some way, or place it elsewhere, and then get things back to normal (safely in the shadows, thank you very much).

But what if, in response, we simply said “thank you!” and got on with our day? It sounds tricky, I know, but accepting kind words says a lot about our feelings of self-worth. Maybe it’s true that some days your outfit looks good. Maybe it’s true that someone enjoyed the meal you just cooked. Maybe, just maybe, you’re someone who deserves praise.

Words have power. We can use them to uplift others (and ourselves). Who’d have thought?

February 13, 2024June 14, 2024

Muppets Rule OK

Something weird happened at the end of January. A muppet asked everyone a question on Twitter (that’s weird enough, you’ll agree) and received a barrage of pain in response.

It was a dark Monday (of course) so it’s maybe no surprise that the innocent question – how is everybody doing? – resulted in over 13,000 replies and almost 150 million views. So how are we all doing? Turns out, not well. Some people talked about losing their jobs, ongoing anxiety about world affairs and even existential despair.

Elmo, with his red fluff and sweet smile, is probably the kindest muppet out there, so I do worry that this unloading of despair onto his little shoulders must surely have given him his first frown lines.

Soon enough, of course, the memes arrived and Elmo appeared to be staring into a fiery abyss or widening his eyes at the scale of despair he’d unleashed. Even Cookie Monster got involved and offered to help – ‘me here to talk it out whenever you want, me will also supply cookies.’

It was funny and weird and interesting, but it was also profound. We’re all coping with stuff, all the time, and the world is on fire right now. We need to share the burden with each other, to ask for help and to admit that some days it’s all too much.

Category: Small World