Monday, February 25, 2008

Leaning towards Infinity Sue Woolfe. Just finished reading (obligatory uni tome). Bored rigid by the first 307 pages, then transfixed by the last 60 odd. Go figure.

"Does this wild errant need fade, like the colour of eyes do?"

I don't think it does.

Today I am mostly: meeting the gruesome twosome, unable to listen to music as this is a uni PC and the ipod has died, watching my smaller dog fade but refusing (with grim determination) to give up, collecting pebbles from the beach and anticipating a new story that pinged into my brain on wings after I finished 'The Repository of Lost Souls' and decided I didn't want to write again - all generated by an innocuous photo sent in to work with an older woman's ankles and a pair of pop socks. I guess that negates my last post then!

Tuesday, February 19, 2008


A term denoting that the sense of a line of verse is complete in that line and does not run over to the next (Brewers Dictionary of Phrase and Fable). I end-stopped Spitting Blood when it became apparent that the use for which it was created (to express anger and frustration at those events which I couldn't control) was no longer present in my life.

The Repository is the next line. As I age I find myself losing strands of who I am. Yet I've never been so certain of where I am going. Is this wisdom? Or am I just deluding myself that everything has finally slotted into place? I know enough to be wary, after all I have watched the histrionic slides towards clinical depression that have punctured my mother's life for the past twenty odd years to know that a good spell rarely lasts.

You can buy here in the UK notebooks that are called 'My Story' which are structured with handy hints for you to record every step of your life. This includes handy hints for keeping lists of all the cars your bought and what their re-sell value is...I admit to some list making within this blog, whoever it is usually under the auspices of the creative writing exercises dictated by my course and I tend to prune before display. But would you really wish to recreate all the minutae that makes up your day / week / month etc? Who would you be writing it for? Do you have children?

I understand the need to have a physical thing that you can pour thought and feeling into , there is something cathartic about sitting at this keyboard and letting loose. In the physical order of things a good friend of mine covets moleskine notebooks - with sound reason. If you seek to write long handed they are easily the most beautifully crafted, tactile recipients for your words that you could ever posess.

What I'm asking myself at this moment, at this point where I have a certain level of serenity, is whether I still want to write and if so, why. Do I need to keep an ill cared for blog? I generally use it as a stepping stone to other people whose relationships are important to me. I have no wish to create yet another virtual persona to reflect who I am at this point in time, when next year I may be baying for blood again and resurrecting ...Blood.

Sigh. I don't have all the answer. I never did. I do know that a creative project I just finished offline as a gift exhausted me both physically and mentally. I'm realising that to write I need to turn the inside out and it's scaring me. I could be a mediocre writer who skips through life quite happily, or a possibly better but still slight writer who digs in places they really shouldn't dig to pull something else out.

I don't know. I really don't know. I do know I feel a fraud for even considering myself a writer despite the fact the MA is nearly done. I've sat with truely talented people and I can't compare myself to them.

Enough, already.

Today I am mostly: moping, listening to (again so no suprise), contemplating the fact that my face may still be young but my hands give the game away and starved for sleep.

Monday, February 04, 2008

A good year

I have indeed. But will the year agree?

Image from Postsecret

Today I am mostly: anticipating, eating comfort food (rice pudding and chicken sandwiches), singing along to Amy MacDonald's This is the Life, twinging slightly with back pain and wondering why I don't write more when it's all I really want to do.

Sunday, February 03, 2008

There comes a time

..when you have a perfect day. It was just an ordinary day. Mundane in many ways, it was a stormy Friday with snow flurries and an early start. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Then something extraordinary happened. Everything suddenly started to go right. This is an unusual phenomena in my life, hence the delay in posting because I'm so wary of jeopardizing this enormous sense of deep, uncomplicated joy.

Such a little thing. The only thing that I have passionately, whole heartedly longed for the past several months. Something I have genuinely lost sleep over at night. A simple call into the chief exec's office, and those few words to say that they appreciate the work I've done so much on my temp contract that they're going to find the money from somewhere to keep me for at least another three months, then for three years if the gov funding contract we're after becomes a reality.

I adore my job. I get a rush of happiness every time I see a project I have assessed receiving funding. Especially the great but financially poor projects where what I write in my assessment report can make the difference between success and failure. I work for an organisation that receives money from rich people to give to poor. That over simplifies it somewhat, but it is such a simple yet cracking idea. I get to visit people who are absolute passionate about what they do, be it theatre that supports young girls with eating disorders, physic gardens run by neuro-scientists, community venues driven by amazing individuals. I stand back in amazement at their energy, their creativity and their drive to make my region a better place. What I do is very small in comparison but it can make a huge amount of difference and I believe in it. I truly do.

Furthermore I am so lucky to work with like minded individuals. We all believe. We all want to help in the most professional way that we can and it makes going to work a pleasure, to know that you can indulge in intricate conversations with people who don't think you're a loon for getting excited over a dreadful set of accounts! And I work three days a week for a decent salary - what the hell more could I ask?!

So this means a lot to me. Especially after the chicken factory. It also means I don't have to sell my house just yet! It means that after two totally shitty years I can actually look forward with some confidence instead of wondering just what's going to hit me next. This is why I'm apprehensive!

Then I got home from work and discovered someone had sent us a cheque for £50 ($100) completely out of the blue...! Happy day indeed!

Who knows, next time I post I may be miserable as hell. But for now I'm gonna bask in this sense of well-being. Because it ain't come cheap.

Today I am: eating fudge, listening to (thanks Sat, for some very good tunes!), smiling all over my silly face, wondering what to do next and reading the Penguin Guide to Punctuation and realising how badly constructed this post is grammar wise!