Is the important thing about horizons...
...that you can see what's on them?
Many years ago I was driving between South Bend and Warsaw, both in Indiana, USA. For some miles the landscape was so flat — and so vast — that I thought I could see the curvature of the earth. It was, in its own way, awe-inspiring. And, in a very real sense, the horizon seemed exactly like a line, the delineation between earth and sky; you could have driven towards it not knowing what you would find — nor perhaps what you were hoping to find.
[Okay, so the picture above isn’t quite Indiana, and the horizon isn’t quite curving…]
For some people writing is a little like that, a kind of magical journey into the unknown; they thrive on being unable to see what might come next. For others, knowing exactly what’s on their horizon is of fundamental importance.
Both ‘types’ of writer post on Substack: the former taking joy in the unexpected; the latter, comfort in being able to predict the future. I suspect that the majority of us are happy enough to exist in a kind of ‘blend’, mixing the unknown and the known in the kind of cocktail that gives us just the right level of ‘buzz’.
I confess to leaning slightly towards appreciating an insight into what’s coming up. Maybe that’s a throwback to all the planning that went into my former professional life — every day there was a plan in play! — and maybe that’s also one of the reasons I found the Indiana horizon just a little daunting.
So, in the spirit of sharing “my writing life”, here is what my horizon currently looks like:
10th-13th February: 3 days in the Lake District (some writing);
15th February: local in-person writing group;
18th February: hosting a Poetry Society Stanza group;
20th-23rd February: mentoring at a writers’ retreat;
28th February: hosting my Contextual international poetry group;
7th-17th March: Scotland ‘road-trip’ (taking photographs and writing);
18th March: hosting a Poetry Society Stanza group;
27th March: hosting my Contextual international poetry group;
28th-31st March: mentoring at a writers’ retreat;
and so on…
That’s just a flavour. There are similar events throughout 2025, including five more mentoring gigs.
But that is only half the story, the tangible stuff you can put into a calendar. Then comes the aspirational:
end-February: finishing the very rough first draft of a new novel (which by that stage will be about 60k words, but is missing an as yet undefined ‘thread’);
end-March: completing a new edition of The Big Frog Theory;
end-March: completing the production of the New Contexts: 7 anthology;
end-March: completing the second editions of two volumes of poetry for a Coverstory books’ published poet;
end-May: finishing the first rough draft of the material generated from my Scotland road-trip (though this is highly dependant on what that work out to be!);
end-July: putting together a new collection of poetry (always assuming that I don’t win a chapbook competition in the interim!);
end-August: pulling together a new collection of short stories based on the many I have waiting in the wings;
also etcetera…
And there will hopefully be a couple of new collections of poetry (not mine) to pull together under the Coverstory books umbrella.
Finally, there’s the unknown that will be lurking on or just over the horizon — and in my case this is currently centred on my health: a new heart procedure or not? And if so, when? etcetera, etcetera…
You may look at the lists above and think that there’s a great deal in them; you may even marvel in my taking so much on. But writing is what I do; it’s my reason for being.
And when I say “writing until the light goes out” I really mean it…
Of course, the key difference between this horizon and the geographic one is that hills, mountains and cities don’t readily move..!