I have found it hard, of late, to bring myself to pick up my pen and write. Perhaps it is just one of those bouts of melancholy to which I am occasionally subject, or perhaps it is something else. An occasional sense of loneliness has not helped. There have been too many nights recently when I have had the tavern to myself for the whole evening, with nary a sight or sound of any customers. Sometimes, it feels as if I have the whole island to myself. Were it not for the comings and goings of the guards and castle staff, I could almost imagine the island is cast adrift, abandoned like the fabled Mary Celeste, all alone in whatever sea this is. I referred, some time ago, to Goethe’s comment about creation being a child of solitude, but I think a man can have too much. Once again, I found myself sitting on the top of the hill, gazing out past the docked ship, past the lighthouse to the dwindling horizon, wondering what is out there; and once again, missing my dear friends from my time in that darker London – Giada, Helene, Valene and Catt especially, and all those others with whom I shared drinks at Fiendish Pleasures or conversations at the Café. I even wondered what became of Borris, and if he ever managed to find a replacement for his hat. Most of all, the sea calls me at times like these. I do not know how I, or even if, I might leave this place, or if I would be prepared to pay the price, as the boatman said, of my memories here. I can but hope that Aoibheann’s comment the other night was accurate, and that I do get to go on the next trading mission with Alec. It would be good to feel shifting timbers under my feet again, to hear the snap of the sails and the creaks of the rigging, even if it is for but a short while.
This low time has not been without its merits. I am getting used to the peculiarities of “modern” music, even getting to like some of it. I conceived an idea for a different series of stories, separate from Edmund’s adventures on Serendipity Island – of vampires and other supernatural beings, in the London of my time, from the point of view of those who are assigned to observe and monitor such beings, and prevent their activities from becoming known to the masses. Perhaps taking a break from Edmund would be good for me.