Dear Diary,
I am chasing my tail this week. You are to receive a rather unedited entry; one that has not been discarded for a while, returned to, and finessed. A deadline for my Creative Writing Course has been the priority, and I have not had a chance to sit down and fill you in properly until now (14:51…). You will have to excuse the flimsiness of the narrative.
Speaking of Creative Writing, the doubts are creeping back in.
I cannot remember if I have told you, Dear Diary, but I have entered a few competitions (ahead of myself, I know) and sent a few pieces to magazines and publications. Needless to say, I have not been successful in any of them, and I have come to the conclusion that I ought to put a stop on those. While they are beneficial in terms of keeping me accountable, pushing me to finish stories or flash fiction I may otherwise abandon, the writing is not good enough. It is not even touching the sides.
That combined with something else that has happened (and I shall not talk about it here), I have started questioning the point in even trying. You may say I should do it for the fun of it. I hear you, and I do do it for the fun of it, but I also struggle with being an amateur, or simply going through the motions. Being half bothered about it. The type of attitude one might adopt when they engage in something ‘for the fun of it’. I am close to giving up. If I do, it surely will be for the last time? I may write these letters in an analogue form. Find the courage to swear. In peace…
Storm Kathleen, could you please kindly …. go away? We have had enough destruction, thank you.
The Week’s Round-Up
Easter means people on holiday. In itself, people off work means even longer hours for me (as the person not on holiday). Easter means school holidays. In itself, this means an eternal struggle to focus, trying to ignore the loud shrieks of the neighbours’ kids. Screams piercing the air, minute after minute. Hour after hour. Inconsiderably. Uncaringly. Unapologetically.
In the last fortnight, perhaps longer, I have been unable to rise with my alarm. I have been hitting that snooze button like there is no tomorrow. One day, earlier this week, I overslept by two hours. My final snooze was done and dusted, and I was ‘getting up’ only to wake up and hour an a half later…at 6:30am. It has been suggested I may be burnt out (or heading in that general direction). I am tired. All. The. Time. Shattered.
How long I will keep it up for I have no idea, but I am enjoying reading again, and I am prioritising it (over writing at times).
On my nightstand / coffee table / desk / breakfast bar, I have:
‘Blue Ticket’ by Sophie Mackintosh; contemporary fiction. I am hoping to finish it by the end of today or tomorrow.
‘Still Me’ by Christopher Reeve; autobiography / memoir. Only on Chapter Four, so a fair way to go!
‘A Parisian Affair and Other Stories’ by Guy de Maupassant; a short story collection. I am roughly halfway through.
The Little Things
A rainbow in the grey sky.
The rain is falling, and the sun is shining, and the sky is grey. But the multi-coloured arch is clearly visible.
Unlikely, but undeniably there.
A new favourite song, ticking most of the boxes for me: vocals, lyrics.