The lady that runs the poetry/creative writing group has been on her holiday this week and with that free time one has been semi-procrastinating.
There has been the blue prints of a couple poems written and a short story for a competition has been thought of and thought on, to the point it is ready for the first draft to be scrawled out. Also the bare bones of another short story, for another competition, has been dumped onto my notebook pages.
But nothing’s been finished because nothing’s been started…Properly
The poems will be done by Wednesday, this I know, but I am going to have to push my wishy washy mind to have also done the first draft of one story as well, but that is the aim.
Somehow none competition stuff is easier to do because of publishing on the blog. A kind of prompt to get it done as it were.
There was a bit of a panic earlier in the week when I misplaced, and thought lost, my note book. I must now view oneself as a writer, for it was the contents of the notebook, those fleeting moments of inspiration and ideas that have been captured down, that held the greatest sense of loss. One has plenty of pads, and pens, and although there is a price attached, one has come to disregard the cost and therefore free my mind to the idea of – ‘not wasted paper’; one will write anything down, even questions…Especially questions!
Onece the pad had been located and secured to be handed over the next day, a wave of relief came over me, but it was the next day when it was handed to me that I knew the relationship with that inanimate object had changed. Somehow it has become an extension of my psyche, and felt like a part of me had returned home.