The Arrival & The Ending
Updated: Jun 20
Today, I walked into Painswick. After days of climbing hills, navigating muddy paths, passing through countless gates, and following the little acorn markers of the Cotswold Way, I entered the village that had lived in my imagination for almost a year.
The moment I saw it, I felt something shift. You might think it was excitement, but it was really more of a deep recognition. If you've read Apricity, you'll understand. Painswick is not merely the setting of the novella. It is woven into its bones. For years, I carried an imagined version of this village in my head while writing. Today, I finally met the real one.
The first place I went was St. Mary's Church. I wandered through the churchyard, taking photographs and exploring every corner before finding the perfect place to sit and do something I had hoped to do for a very long time. I read aloud the final chapter of Apricity. The last chapter is short. Even so, I found myself becoming emotional as I read it. Behind me stood the church, around me stood centuries of gravestones, and beyond lay the village that had inspired the story.
When I finished, I simply sat on a graveyard bench for a while, surrounded by the most beautiful flowers. The bench itself was dedicated to the very man who had created the gardens, many years ago.
Then I went looking for my characters. That may sound strange, but writers will understand.
I wandered through the older parts of the village, searching for the places where Melody lived, where the Mercers might have resided, where Annis Hale gave birth at the beginning of the story. And somehow, impossibly, I found them. Or at least I found the places that felt exactly right. At one point I even discovered a house called Hale House standing almost precisely where I had imagined Annis's story beginning.
The line between invention and reality seemed unusually thin today.
Later, I visited the tiny tourist office just off the churchyard and met the lovely elderly woman who volunteers there. After hearing why I had come to Painswick, she graciously allowed me to send copies of Apricity for the village to sell or give away.
From there, I carried the book to the village library. I explained to the librarians that I had brought the copy all the way from France because I wanted to read the final chapter here before leaving it behind. I held it out, my pack-partner since the beginning of this journey, and held it out to them. "Would you be able to add it to your library?" I asked. One of them smiled and said, "Well, I'm going to take it home and read it first, but then I'll return it." I could not have asked for a better fate for that particular copy.
Then, as often seems to happen when one is paying attention, something unexpected occurred. I was back, sitting on the same bench in the church gardens as before, trying to eat a muffin and telling myself I really ought to consume more calories than I have been on this strenuous walk when a woman called out from just across the garden.
"Lovely purple hair!"
We immediately formed some kind of bond that happens just a few times in life, Her name, she told me was Gemma. Her dog, Willow, immediately attempted to steal my muffin. Naturally, Gemma and I decided her full name henceforth must be Willow, the Would-Be Muffin Thief. Gemma and I spent the next half hour talking. Really talking. The sort of conversation that somehow moves quickly past small talk and arrives in more meaningful places.
When I explained why I had come to Painswick, her eyes lit up. It turns out she runs the Painswick Fete each September. She suggested that if I sent copies of my books, she would feature them in their own stall, with proceeds supporting the upkeep of the church gardens. We exchanged information.
By then, something had become clear. I wasn't going to continue walking. My body is tired. I've struggled with eating for some reason throughout this trip and have lost more weight than I intended.
But the decision wasn't really about that. The truth is that I arrived. I walked to Painswick. I proved something to myself. I proved that I can trust myself. That I can care for myself.
Over these past days, I've had long stretches of silence in which to think. Whether to wait for the literary agent's response to After All or continue along the path I already know. The stories I still want to tell. A new project called The Inkling, which keeps tapping me on the shoulder and asking to be written. Childhood. Being a strange child. Becoming an even stranger adult. And perhaps most importantly, about what I actually want.
There is a temptation to believe that every journey must be completed exactly as planned. That stopping early somehow diminishes what came before. I don't believe that. Not anymore. The purpose of a journey is not always to reach the end of the map. Sometimes it is to arrive where you were meant to arrive. For me, that place was Painswick. Today.
Notice things, my darlings.
~ Shannon ᭄᭡ ͏ ͏
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