I was talking once with one of my friends, Wyatt Fairlead, about the film. (He was one who told me I must see this film if I hadn't already)
"It always makes me want to paint amazing pictures and publish a book," I said.
"It always makes me want to own land in the Lake District," he followed.
That was a jolly plan and it has grown since to a plot that he will somehow fall into an inheritance (or win a lottery) and buy at least one farm up there. Matthew (my cousin) and Amy (Wyatt's sister and Matthew's girl) and I will then come visit and I will have all the joy of a Lake District farm without any of the expense.
It is a very good plan.
Among many of the other joys of the film, (LIKE THE SCENERY? OH LOR') the soundtrack is paramount. It is the essential "writing music" for me....just turn that soundtrack up on Spotify and dig my mental claws into my story and there we go. I need to employ the music in the background while writing Anon, Sir, Anon -- just the right feel for the story. When watching the movie last night, I was excited (and a bit astonished) to realize that my Lair is quite a lot like Beatrix's room...and I have always envied/loved/adored/wanted her painting room. That was quite a lovely lovely realization and now I love my messy wall more than ever.
There is one scene toward the start of Beatrix's career when she has just published The Tale of Peter Rabbit and is sitting with Norman Warne (her publisher) over tea. She is saddened that their relationship must needs come to an end because the business of publication is through and they have succeeded...then Norman leans across the table saying:
"Your book has made my life so full...I was hoping there would be more stories...?"
Beatrix looks a bit taken aback. "Y..yes."
Norman: "Then I look forward to doing it again and again..."
Beatrix: "And again!"
And that is exactly how this whole publication of Fly Away Home feels. I just want to keep writing, keep making stories, keep dreaming about that farm in the Lake District I
Oh dear. I independently published. No charming, humorous, lovable publishing men for me....
Guess I'll settle for a thick, roguish Willie Heelis when I go off to visit Wyatt Fairlead's farm. :)