What is the "real" work?
Moments from my wild and AI-stolen life (March 15-21)
March 15, 2025
It’s 12pm and I’m laying on the living room floor. My yoga mat lives here permanently laid out, so the invitation to stretch is always open. I look up—at the ceiling, at the way the light is cast across it, at the blue sky. I can’t wait to go outside today.
A couple hours later, Tall Man and I have set out for a nice long “walk and talk.” Our relationship began outdoors, in a way. And from the very beginning, we agreed that anytime we need/want to have big conversations, we will try to do it while we are moving our bodies in nature.
Today’s talk is a scheduled one—something we like to call our seasonal check-in. I won’t share anything we talk about here, but it’s an important practice that was originally inspired by this post he’d read. We (try to) do it at the start of every new season. Spring is here, so it’s time to reflect on winter.
Three hours later, we’ve walked 7.75 miles (12.5km) and I’ve hardly taken in our surroundings, engrossed in the conversation. (We’ve done this walk before, so I don’t feel as though I’ve missed out on anything!) But we pause at the waterfall. Personally, I’ve stopped to check on this bird.
If you zoom in, can you see it? On the rock in the bottom left corner? It is so tiny, but has such a loud call. Has it lost its friends? Can anyone hear it over the roaring waterfall below? I can hear you, friend! It flits away and I hope it ends up wherever it wants to go.
March 16, 2025
Tall Man is sleeping upstairs (at The Lighthouse), and I’m downstairs sipping coffee and reading. I pause to do my daily Italian lesson on Duolingo. It’s day 173 and we are revisiting lessons from the early weeks. Tu hai un ragazzo alto! translates to You have a tall boyfriend! It made me laugh then and now. Yes, yes I do.
Now it’s 2pm and I’m walking down the street towards a coffee shop, when I hear a familiar voice call out: Hi friend! It’s Sasha! Calling out from the car, while she waits for a parking spot. She’s here for a quick visit, and over the next two hours we hangout in a way that only two people who really know each other can: with complete ease. We get tea. Walk paths we’ve walked many times before. Go back to The Lighthouse. Sit on the couch and chat. Hug and say goodbye. Throughout it all, I have little moments where I think: I can’t believe she’s here, this feels so surreal. You’d never know we live 3 hours apart now, or that we hadn’t seen each other in 4 months, or wouldn’t see each other again for a while. It also doesn’t matter. We will text each other in an hour.
March 17, 2025
I wake up at 4am, not tired but… refreshed!? I want to get up and make coffee, so I do. My lifelong history of sleep issues has taught me: listen to your body. When you’re tired, get into bed. When you feel awake, get up. Bed is for sleep, not for hanging out. (These are my rules for myself, not advice for anyone else.)
I get dressed, go downstairs, fill my French press. Then I curl up on the couch with my first mug. I decide to start reading one of the middle grade novels from my 2025 reading list. I choose BECAUSE OF WINN-DIXIE, for the simple reason that it’s the shortest. And then I devour it—all 157 pages in one go. There’s a quote towards the end that is so shockingly honest, I am left sobbing again. How does she do that!?!? Knowing a bit about Kate’s childhood, I imagine this is what she meant when she gave the advice: write towards the hole in your own heart.
I can’t remember the last time I read two books in a week. (I finished PINEAPPLE STREET last night.)
March 18, 2025
Between writing sessions, I walk into town. Outside of one shop, I look down and notice a few paper hearts on the ground. Oh wait, there’s a star. Oh, and a bell. And are those horseshoes!? They are pink and blue and yellow and white. Little bits of confetti, no bigger than your thumbnail, are scattered down the sidewalk—spanning the length of at least six shops. How did it get here? I wonder and will never know.
I’m noticing things I haven’t noticed before, on today’s walk. Things that have probably always been here and I just haven’t seen. Like the bright pink door on #14. And the navy blue and brass sign indicating one house’s name. Are these more noticeable because the sun is shining? Then there’s the house that uses at least one room for storage—so much so, all I can see are random objects (a lamp, DVD player, and books) shoved up against the window. No light pours into that room, I think. There are stories behind everything I’m seeing today—or I can make some up. Why would I try to brainstorm new “artist dates” I could take myself on each week, when I can simply go outside?
I turn a corner, look up, and notice the objects in another window. A lamp and jars of paint brushes. Who lives here and how often do they paint and what do they paint? I wonder and will never know.
Then I hear the familiar sound of buzzing and spot a big fluffy bumblebee. A sign of the new season. A sign of hope.
Until it crashes into a window. Again and again, before flying in another direction. Silly bee.
March 19, 2025
I’m up at 4am again. Ready for coffee, ready to read before I write. I pick up my copy of DEVOTIONS by Mary Oliver and open it to a random page. This is the first thing I read:
“maybe just looking and listening
is the real work.
Maybe the world, without us,
is the real poem.”
After doing all the work work (not the “real” work) I wanted to do today, I go for a walk with a purpose. The sheep in the distant fields are louder than usual, this week. I can hear them, whenever I open my front door. The lambs have been born… and I want to see them! So I walk 10-15 minutes one way, but discover they are hanging out at the back of the fields—a little too far to get a good look (or picture). So I listen and watch them jump and run around. I’ll be back, lambies! I say and I mean. Their arrival will change the route I take on my daily walks now.
On my return trip home, I hear and see another big fluffy bumblebee.
March 20, 2025
It’s 1pm and I’m walking towards the lambs again—only this time, I’m also talking on the phone. I’m chatting with Emma Simpson, author of BREAKING WAVES which comes out next week. We speak honestly about how it feels to promote a memoir. Emma and I have met once briefly before, but we are basically two strangers who have something in common now. The conversation flows easily, the way it does when two people have a shared experience—and a shared language. And there’s a lot to say.
Later, I finish another of Kate DiCamillo’s books: THE TIGER RISING. It does not make me cry. It kind of makes me angry? I don’t think I like this book at all… but that’s three in one week.
March 21, 2025
It’s 9:30am and I’m on the road, heading west toward the M6. I’m going on my first literary adventure day! The plan is to meet up with Keris Fox in St. Anne’s, explore a bit, then pop into Katie Clapham’s bookshop. I’m excited to meet new people, see a new place, and get some new books!
It’s 11am and I’ve just parked my car at the St. Anne’s train station, where I’m going to meet Keris. I missed a call 10 minutes ago, so call the number back. It’s the woman who interviewed me for a job two weeks ago. I didn’t get it. She’s kind and says our call was the one she least wanted to make, because she’d really liked me and enjoyed our conversation. But one person had a bit more experience. I think I say nice things in reply, but I am gutted. I liked her too and I wanted this job. I am also tired of applying for jobs and not getting them. Tired of trying to get ahead in the UK and continually feeling as though I’m stuck where I am. A few minutes later, Keris walks off the train. We hug hello and then I cry at her.
It’s 4:30pm and I’m back in the car. I’ve had a beautiful day with Keris, which included not one but two visits to see Katie! We walked, talked, laughed… and I am coming home with so many new books! (I’m going to tell you more about this next week, when I have the energy.) But there’s been a cloud over me all day. It’s still here now. I’m sad. My royalties are late again and I’m worried about money and the future. I’m tired.
It’s 7pm and I’m in the bath. I read Daisy Buchanan’s newsletter about how Meta stole her novels and used them to train their AI systems. I understand how violated she feels. Last year, I shared that THE YEAR OF LESS was 1 of 183,000 books stolen to train systems like ChatGPT. This time, Meta has stolen 7.5 million books and 81 million research papers. Numbers so big, my brain can’t compute them. Once again, The Atlantic has done some incredible reporting on this, and even created another database you can search to see whose work was stolen by Meta. I search my name and see they took both of mine this time. I search friends and authors I love and see they’ve taken everyone’s work.
It is an exhaustive list and I am exhausted.
Trying to survive as a writer feels exhausting right now.
xx Cait
Cait, I can’t tell you how lovely it feels to read your writing. The way you capture how it feels to revel in the beauty of the world mixed with setbacks and worry we all deal with, but especially creatives. I know it may not mean much coming from a rando on the internet, but: thanks for writing about your week. There were so many times I thought, “Me, too!” (ie, my best relationship talks have come in the woods too. We always say, “Nobody leaves the woods mad!” And it’s been true for us! We always seem to be able to work things out amid a ten-mile hike. And I too would change my route for the lambies!)
Sending warmth to you from across the pond!
I kinda love these posts of meanderings...the thoughts and happenings from your days. It feels intimate (but not too intimate). Thank you for sharing your life.