Tag Archives: pens

I am writing

I am writing-Two

There was some writing yesterday. A well as a bit of organisation of writing projects. There are a number to look at.

It’s not easy to pick up a notebook, pickup where I might have left off and hurtle off at full throttle. Some of these have been sat stacked for nearly a decade, others a few years. I tend to write things down with a full head of steam. The Muse gets titrated and emptied; it all feels very hopeful. Alas, one is human and with that energy depletes.

I also never throw any writing away. I choose to come back to it at another time. This does then lead to an inevitable log jam of books and ideas. However, this does, in my opinion at least, stave off writers block a little. I have had the ideas, these have been decanted. I can go back to them, sometimes with a fresh set of eyes and have another crack.

So I have inventoried and made a vague plan of what to do over time. Each book tends to be written over a year. Typically, I start on the 6th of January, Epiphany. A good a day as any to have a bright idea. To aim for a finish on New Years Eve. Not all projects might take a year. This does depend on how long I would initially like them to be. Padmi’s Christmas Carol took a week to write. Devan Coultrie can take up six weeks. I once wrote a script for a short movie in one morning. I hasten to add, these are only ever the first drafts. I do not profess to be perfect. Not by any length of chalk. All depends on a work/life/creativity balance.

Previously, I mentioned that I would be attending book events later this year. I did post those, for information.

Book events are a really interesting part of being an indie, self published author. I get to meet new readers, readers who have decided to invest in my books; I also get to adventure across the country. Mama F or a soul sister usually accompany me and act as my glamourous assistant. I’ve been very lucky to have gone to events in Montana, USA and then across all corners of the United Kingdom. Should we get to Cardiff, then yes, I will have covered the whole of the sceptred isle.

It’s not easy reaching readers, promoting work and hoping that there will be positive reviews. In fact, I have had my fair share of one and two star reviews. These can be soul-destroying and horribly demotivating. This has been on my mind quite a bit over the last year, it’s very difficult to shake off the feeling of being diminutised. Alas, I’m trying to reconcile myself to the fact that I won’t be everyone’s cuppa tea. My books will find people, and there are readers who invest and take things from the Figments of my Imagination; reading that, is always lovely.

This year, there is a full ticket of events. Only a couple pencilled in for 2027. Nothing yet, for 2028. The future is yet to be determined.

Taking stock

At a loss for words

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At this moment in time, I am at a loss for words.

Ordinarily, be it at work, when blogging,  writing; I could waffle. I daresay, I could probably waffle for England. The hitting of a payload, a torrent of words and inspiration, does tend to be hard to stop. I experience it as un-brookable sensation, my brain is aflame with my handwriting only just keeping up with the daydreams wanting exit my imagination.

Words tumble;the whole thing is a emotional, psychological cascade. A torrent of things that might not have even been in my consciousness. To this day, I can’t read bits of Fragments, I remember my own pain.

In stark contrast then, is the barrenness of not writing. The overwhelming swirling of tumbleweed and screeching carrion birds in a desert.

I do have a list. I have a stack, in fact, of notebooks; each one has a list of things to write for that particular creating. So it’s not as though I have a block, as though The Muse-whatever form that creature takes-and I have deserted each other. The Muse has done what needs to be done, and gone off to where ever they are needed.

It is the impetus, the bounce and flow, the mojo that has gone.

At this moment in time, it’s actually difficult to look a the books. The ‘to-write’ lists make no sense to me. They may as well be written in a different language.

I think I need a rest.  Life has, after all, been rather busy.  Six books, a Bollywood wedding, a diploma in therapeutic counselling are all going to have an effect. As is not being in a stable teaching post. I have done, experienced, been part of one hell of an adventure. It is impossible for me to negate any of that; it has made me the woman, the person, the author that I am.

The diploma is now over-Just waiting for the certificate!  I am also thinking, about what the next phase of the counselling journey might involve. No idea what is happening on the teaching front; the end of the summer, would mark ten years as an educator.

That in itself, is special. I want to make it that far! Teaching has also been a journey in it’s own right.

I do feel a loss; as though I should be doing something, However, there is that small voice. The tiniest squeak, that is saying no. Something isn’t right, something hangs in the air; writing is not what I want, need,to do at this moment in time.

This, is voice, that I need to listen to. I also need, somehow, to accept, that the writing is paused. This is horribly difficult, when it has been a part of me for such a long time. I’ve enjoyed it; writing really is a facet of me. The thought of writing rubbish-whatever that might be-also crossed my mind. It’s been dismissed a couple of time. I want to value what I write, I want it to have some importance.

Self-care is the big thing here. To look after myself, nourish the elements within that have become depleted.

Who knows. Perhaps the words will come back.

Eventually.