For those of you who don’t know an Aeolian Harp is a musical instrument that you can put on a windowsill and the wind will play it. I’ve never seen one. The concept of this harp was introduced to me in my second year of university, not for its musical attributes but for what it symbolised to romantic poets. For poets like Samuel Taylor Coleridge it represented the moment when inspiration hits and you can read more about it in his poems The Eolian Harp or Dejection, an Ode or Google it if its quicker.
For me this concept symbolises the way I feel waiting for inspiration, sitting on the windowsill patiently until something inside of me stirs and an invisible force begins to play my strings. When it does come it flows from me quickly as music would play from that harp. It reminds me why I love writing.
Yet I am not just this harp. I am many things. I became a mother last year and it took me a while to remember that I was anything else. I am a wife, a fizzy bottle of sarcasm, a writer by night and by day I offer technical support to users of varying capabilities. That last one requires whatever patience and understanding my son leaves for them.
For the most part I am an open book and these are the pages I’m allowing you to read.
Oh and be gentle; I have validation issues.