Be a fly on the wall onboard Maggie during a rainstorm and see a slice of the goings on in Lizbef and Leela’s day to day life!
Find us at https://www.earlewrites.com
Become a Patron http://www.patreon.com/EarleWrites
Say hi! https://www.instagram.com/EarleWrites
“I know what I’ll do,” I said decisively to no one. I stood up and marched to my bedroom, tossing through the clothes and blankets on my bed, frantically searching for the one thing that would make me feel better.
“Yes!”
Pulling out my hot water bottle, I returned to the kitchen and lit the hob for the kettle.
A hot water bottle had never failed to cheer me up. I was confused as to why I would need to feel comforted, but I did. Maybe it’s from living alone for so long. When you live in a household, you take it for granted how many times you hug someone. And I knew that I was craving contact.
I hesitated and returned to my room, searching through the covers until I found him.
Sighing in relief, I hugged Hopsy to my chest, allowing the comfort to sink through my muscles as a 33-year-old woman, and returned to the lounge.
My love-ravaged soft toy stared back at me with scratched black beady eyes, partially bulging from its grey mismatched head that my Nan had over generously restuffed for me.
I hugged Hopsy again without shame. I was in my own home, I could cuddle my childhood teddy if I wanted.
Returning to the sofa, I set him down beside me as I began to research my next move along the canal.
I wouldn’t say I’m naturally a brave person. It comes in sporadic waves. And then leaves me in a drought.
I left my previous location four weeks ago. It was a successful journey, and I was glad to say that my confidence had come back. I had made it to the winding hole at Atherstone Locks, filled up with water, turned her around, with the help of Tommy and Deakin, found a new location in Hartshill.
I had spent a week there, enjoying the scenery and peace, and moved where I was now, closer to Nuneaton. Time had come and gone so quickly. There were quite a few parties, celebrations, a birthday, and I had even caught and recovered from Covid during my time at this space.
And now it was a matter of days before I had to move.
“A lot of 70ft boats have trouble moving around the bend in Nuneaton,” Xavier’s mum told me (on one of Xavier’s and Lily’s many faithful visits to me). “You’ll be wanting some help.”
“Why? What’s wrong with it?”
Xavier and his mum explained that there is an area where boats moor “double parked”. This wouldn’t be a problem if there wasn’t a bridge with a direct sharp bend where afterwards, people also liked to moor up their boat.
I’m not scared of bumping into the towpath, and getting stuck in the silt, but hitting someone else’s boat feels very unforgivable. I know that I would understand if someone tapped into Maggie around a bend, but there is something so hideously awful about it that I have found myself feeling sick at the idea.
But I know I have to get over this. Because the entire point of getting Maggie was to travel. And the Ashby is calling.
It’s been 2 and a half weeks since I filled up with water. I was able to make Leviathan’s water supply of 175litres last two weeks before I need to fill up. And Maggie can hold 750litres of water. Regardless, this is also something I have been worrying about. I have concocted plans to fill up a large portable water container on a daily basis to keep Maggie topped up, as it looks like another four weeks before I’ll top up again. Maybe that should be exciting. The pressure to move. The pressure to survive.
Sometimes I’ll weave any sort of difficulty into something to overcome in a storyline. And it may not be a sword fight or a pursuit through a forest, but for me, it’s a race against something. A challenge. How long I can last out.
Whereas the solitude was difficult in the beginning, I have begun to thrive in my own company- probably because I’m so close to town now that I see my friends at least 2/3 times a week. I’m enjoying it, but I know it’s dulling my productivity. So when I do get my alone time (despite loving my social time) I am so grateful for it.
I sighed, squeezing Hopsy tighter. His eyes bulged at me pleadingly. I had to get a move on. It was time to restock the provisions and find a new mooring spot. Time to film, time to write, and time to finish some commissions. I needed to wake up from this comatose energy slumber I’ve been in since I moved on board. I think so much was happening from selling Leviathan, shutting down my art studio, and moving on board Maggie, that everything had to stop, just so I could process what was happening.
Sometimes I’ll feel a heaviness in my stomach that I’m not where I want to be in terms of success- it’s as if I’m greedy for it. Each time I achieve a goal, it never feels enough. There must be another and another- something to reach and aspire to.
Something to overcome.
And as the weeks have gone by, I know that I want more. I want to achieve more. If only my brain could work like a normal person’s and actually get stuff done.
The hiss of the kettle jarred me from my thoughts and I jumped up to turn the hob off. Filling up my hot water bottle, which was shaped like a long furry noodle, I returned to my seat and hugged it close to my chest.
The warmth slowly sunk into me, reassurance trickling through my bloodstream bit by bit.
I thought of how much I would just like a hug from my mother and how much it would make everything better. I imagined myself turning up at the house and asking if I could have a sleepover and then swallowed down the idea as quickly as it came.
I didn’t want to leave Maggie tonight. I wanted to hole up, get a fire going and do something productive- something, anything that would make me feel as though I was moving forwards.
And plus, wasn’t I too old now to be needing a hug from my mum just to make things better?
That would worry her.
“I’m fine,” I said out into the open space. And I was. I was just feeling scared and a little vulnerable. I had spent the previous night in Stroud with friends and had seen how much they supported and loved each other. The constant touching, the hugs and lying next to each other.
It made me happy and sad at the same time.
Because I wanted that. And wasn’t entitled to it from anyone.
This was a solo journey and I needed to create my own comfort.
I held onto the hot water bottle a little bit tighter, Hopsy falling in a partially concussed state as he stared blankly up at me.
“Yeah, buddy,” I exhaled, setting in behind my laptop. “I know the feeling.”
During the ups and downs of transitioning to life on Maggie, my 1920’s narrowboat, I have found myself slip back into full time cruiser mode. And I have really been thriving.
I picked up my green tartan shirt and gave it a tentative sniff.
Wrinkling my nose, I shrugged, picked up my trusty bottle of fabric febreeze and gave it a quick spray. Pulling it on, I shrugged.
“Good enough for another two days.”
With water wastage still on my mind, I wasn’t near a laundrette and didn’t want to waste water on washing clothes until I really needed to. Maggie luckily enough has a small bath tub, which the previous owner used to wash his clothes in, and I was intending to do the same, when that fateful day came.
Setting in front of the fireplace, I opened it to see a few simmering coals remaining from the previous night. Throwing some scraps of cardboard from food packaging inside, I stoked it enough for a small flame and placed some kindling that I had gathered along the towpath.
I sat in front of it for a few minutes, mesmerised by the twisting orange and gold within. This always was my favourite job on any boat. Keeping warm. Feeling as though I was transported back a hundred years ago and as though I could survive.
I smiled, brushing the hair away from my face and placed some lumps of coal on top of the smouldering fire. Waiting for the flames to burn without further immediate assistance, I shut the fireplace door.
There was some satisfaction of needing to do narrowboat jobs before you had managed to have your first cup of tea.
Tredding to the engine room, I checked the oil, and then satisfied with the level, cranked old “thump” into action to charge up my batteries. I tried to run thump for at least half an hour every day to give me enough power to use the lights and my fridge. I had already had emails from people telling me I should get solar power arranged- my narrowboat was 70ft- plenty of room for a few panels- but looking at my fast-dwindling bank balance, that was a next year’s job.
As I returned to the kitchen to boil some water for a cup of tea, I resisted checking my phone. I hadn’t heard from my London date in a while, and despite knowing the inevitable had happened, a small vulnerable part of me hoped that I had been mistaken by everything. But I knew.
The joys of dating.
As the kettle boiled, I moved into the bathroom, checked the compost loo to see how much room I had left in my urine container, and seeing it was already three-quarters full, carefully removed it. Checking left and right as I exited the boat for stray walkers along the towpath, I managed to dispose of it into the earth away from the path. It wasn’t a pretty job, but it made me feel some pride that I was no longer using a chemical toilet as I had been on Leviathan. Finding an elsan point along the canal every four days was a nightmare at best, and now living on Maggie where I liked to enjoy myself for two weeks at a time, made me more self-sufficient.
Diving back into the point, I placed the container back, thoroughly washed my hands and found myself standing above my phone once more.
“I’m just checking to see if my mates have contacted me,” I told myself, tapping my notifications bar. But there was nothing, except from my car insurance reminding me that I was due for renewal.
My jaw clenched and I placed my phone back on the counter harder than I meant to.
I hated dating. Hated everything about it. Becoming vulnerable, opening myself up and enjoying someone’s company.
“It’s fine,” I murmured to no one. “It’s fine. You were fine before, and you’ll be fine now.”
A high-pitched screech from the kettle jolted me from whatever depths I had momentarily plunged into, and I reversed back into the kitchen.
As I set about making a tea, a droplet of hot water scolded my toes. I looked down at the dirt around my feet and then turned, catching myself in the mirror. My shirt was creased. My hair, unwashed for three days was a wild mass, still in vain attempting to be held together in the plait I had slept in. Bruises covered my shins from climbing up and out of the cratch window to the roof and a line of coal was smeared on my cheek from arranging the fire this morning.
“Oh wow,” I said, a grim smile twisting my mouth. “Aren’t you a treat, Elizabeth?”
And for a split second, I doubted what I could bring to anyone. I took in another breath and took a step closer to the mirror, forcing myself to look truly at my reflection.
“You’ll stop this, you hear?” I warned, pointing at the girl staring back at me. I flicked against the cold surface. “You made choices and you’re a badass because of them.”
Annoyed and a little sad, I stomped to my bathroom and picked up my red lipstick. I stared at the scarlet tube as though it held the antidote to the poison I was feeling, before carefully applying it against my lips. I didn’t care that I had no one to see. I didn’t care about any of it. I just needed to feel powerful again. I felt as though all of my power had been stripped away, all of those talks and monologues about being ok alone had drifted away like the smoke from my fire.
I was ok alone. I was more than ok. I didn’t need to wait for someone to call me or message me. I didn’t need someone to tell me nice things about myself. I didn’t need the embraces of late-night talks. I didn’t need any of it. I didn’t want any of it.
I didn’t want to get to know someone and learn about them. I didn’t want to have to share memories of my past or aspects of my personality. I didn’t want them to see what I had done or achieved or talk about what heartache those choices had cost.
I didn’t want to be vulnerable. Because where would it get you? Hugging a hot water bottle for comfort because you didn’t have anyone to ask for a hug. Applying red lipstick when your feet were covered in mud, just to feel like some semblance of the Elizabeth I had before.
I allowed the annoyance to grow to anger that I had allowed myself to open to the idea of sharing my life experience with anyone. I had always been able to rely on myself. I had myself to count for stability, myself to count for love. I had never let myself down.
The hours passed until the light from the sky began to dim. I heaped more coal on the fire and applied more red lipstick after each cup of tea.
I stood in the centre of Maggie, the golden light from candles making every dark surface bounce with bronze and copper shimmers.
I felt the disappointment wash over me that this experience was yet another one to write in my diary, another footnote on my journey to meeting someone. And then felt disappointment in my excited naievity.
The darkness within Maggie wrapped around my bones, coating me in a blanket of safety as the fire cracked and snapped in the hearth.
You have everything you need here, Maggie seemed to whisper.
I lifted the cup to my red lips. At some point, it had turned from a cup of tea to a glass of red wine. Clever boat.
I didn’t need anyone. The rich liquid poured over my tongue and down my throat, heating up a comforting path. I exhaled, allowing the tension to run from my shoulders.
See? I could look after myself.
“I don’t need anyone,” I said to myself as if saying it aloud would finalise it into fact and I would stop feeling this way. “I don’t need anyone.”
But for once, I had to admit…
It would have been nice.
Lizbef and Chaz race to set up the boat, get provisions, fuel, water and head off for the FIRST time! Time to celebrate!
Lizbef has a LOT to unpack and discovers the joys of putting a life’s possessions into a 32ft of space! Wrestling with mattresses and choosing Shakespeare over plates, Lizbef races to move onboard for her send off!
Had some bazaar things you wanted to know about Lizbef? Look no further- here are your answers!
Wow! Things are evolving, people! We prepare the shower bulkhead, prepare the log burner and even have working lights now! So pleased with how things are going!
Tip for a Cuppa Tea!
This video was created through the power of tea! And rum… If you would like to slide one my way, please do! So much love! Lizbef x
$3.00
It feels strange that only yesterday I was sharing something on how to improve your artistic business.
It was full of tips and tricks on how to fully optimise the elements that are available to you. How to widen your audience and generate more sales.
And yet over the past week, I know I’ve fallen behind in the very things that I stress should be met. I think the reason why is probably obvious. Obvious for a lot of us. Because we’re all feeling it.
That horrible L word that is currently happening.
LOCKDOWN.
I’ve never written a piece strictly about the effects of the pandemic on my business. Because it would waste time and energy. People know what it’s like without me even needing to explain it. It sucks for all of us.
And now as I wake up, I feel that familiar worry curl up in my stomach. I tell myself that it’s normal. And natural. It never really seems to go away when you have your own business. And maybe that’s what makes us get up in the morning when we don’t want to and try again.
Because if we weren’t worried, stressed or anxious, then we wouldn’t care about it. I make myself go to the studio when I would like to take a day off and read a book. Even if all I do is sit in the chair for an hour and stare at a piece of paper. I know that I need to take a day off at some point and simply do nothing, but I’ve never had that ability to relax. I always feel guilty about not moving forward. I’m so scared about wasting time. And yet, I sit and stare at the blank piece of paper before me, time passing me by.
I want to create. I want to paint.
But my hand for some reason can’t bear to lift my pencil.
It’s called a creative burn out.
To get out of this, I try and mix up my days. I enjoy working on design campaigns with photoshop, designing merchandise for my shop. Other times I’ll simply paint watercolour backgrounds until an idea emerges. If I really need to let go, I’ll grab a canvas and let hell break loose with colours.
I think the point to this blog today, is don’t worry if you are lacking the energy to hit the points that I mentioned in my blog yesterday. Because I haven’t been hitting them myself. We’re all tired.
Each night I go to bed with so many ideas on how I can strengthen and expand my business. I know exactly what I need to do. Having the energy to implement these actions is another thing entirely.
My burn out is my own fault of course.
The reward for working all day in the studio, is writing at night. I split my days as a painter and author, and it feels very apt that I choose to paint bright and colourful things in the day and then hunch over my laptop twisting darkness, adventures and fantasy into words at night.
I love it. And I don’t mean that in the casual sense. I really and completely love it.
But I don’t finish until past 1am most nights.
I can’t sleep until I have hit my word count. And that’s not even a discipline thing. I have to pour all of the ideas in my head onto the screen. It’s addictive. Obsessive. And only when my brain is wrung dry of every single sentence that has been haunting my mind in the day, can I sleep.
I feel guilty if I go to bed and I haven’t wrestled every ounce of creativity from myself. And if I’ve had a bad day of productivity at the studio, I’ll take it out on my writing, demanding that I work harder and longer to make up for the morning and afternoon hours.
Hence my creative burn out.
But with lockdown, there can be no give. No days off. I can’t take any day for granted. I can’t assume I’ll have business every day of the week. I have to make it. Generate it. This means promotion, marketing and social media. This means creating new pieces. Updating the website. Designing new merchandise (which reminds me, check out my latest “Mama was a Punk,” collection on my shop) Dragging a business through a pandemic means finding smarter ways to meet and connect with your audience. Not take a day off from it.
This is what I tell myself.
And what I have outlined in my paragraph above isn’t what I would tell other people. I would tell others to take a day off. To be kind to themselves. To breathe. But it’s so strange how we rarely take our own advice, isn’t it? It’s like we’re our own pushy parents, demanding the best from ourselves at all times.
The fact is that I want my business to succeed more than I want to relax in bed with a face mask and a good book. I cannot waste a day. I have to move forward.
I have to survive.
Having the added stress of renovating a canal boat in the middle of Winter that relies on constant funding to see completion, makes me deny myself any days off. I’m due to move on near the end of November and there is so much to do and achieve to make her habitable to move on. There can be no delay. No pushing back the schedule.
So the bills continue to roll in and I continue to work.
And sadistically? I enjoy the thrill of being faced with a bill and throwing myself into action to work for the funds to pay it. I enjoy the rush of adrenaline. The sense of satisfaction when I reach those work targets.
Because I know I can do it. I won’t allow myself to fail.
And maybe that doesn’t sound very self-caring of myself, and I wouldn’t disagree with you if you said I needed to chill the hell out. But it is my current reality. My confession.
No rest for the wicked, eh?
The race is on! With the November move in date looming, Lizbef pulls out all of the stops and throws herself into work! Thank Neptune for the art studio!
Hope you enjoy! x
Tip for a Cuppa Tea!
This video was created through the power of tea! And maybe rum… If you would like to slide one my way, please feel free! And thank you SO MUCH! Love, Lizbef xxx
3.00 $
We continue sanding, filling and preparing Leviathan for painting!
Tip for a Cuppa Tea!
This video was created by the power of tea! If you would like to slide one my way, please feel free! Much love! Lizbef and Leela x
$3.00