For those shades of readers past who could possibly understand the following, I thank you for your taking the time to ever follow me.
The last few posts I wrote said something along the lines of “this blog is back”. I think that this has happened enough times that if it was a hacking cough I’d go to the doctors. But I couldn’t stick with my new planned schedule of effective fortnightly posting. ‘Why not?’ You plead.
Because I was writing rubbish.
I had got into my head that in order to be a professional writer you have to keep a “writer’s blog” which serves no purpose beyond simpering congratulations of attention and nauseating back-patting.
Of course, I hated it – and after a couple of posts let the blasted thing die a death, again. And yet like an absent minded repetitive phoenix it arises from its depleted ashes once more!
Its goal: for my words to be heard!
Why’s that then!? OR Your future self is talking
By the suggestion of my fabulous fiancee (with whom I share blog and travel vlog) she said I should do this Current Me vs. Future Me comparison by Lavendaire. If you have twenty minutes spare, I highly recommend it.
I read in A Mind for Numbers by Barbara Oakley that using this kind of mental contrasting you can ‘change your reality.’ (p.107) And for me in a short twenty minute period I had a bit of an epiphany about my self and my future.
Writing about my future self I started wanting to write my usual future hope of “have a novel or two published” and the words refused to form in my mind – the sounds would not manifest themselves, they no longer existed in that composition.
Fear gripped me – I am truly like my characters, I thought, lying myself into a state of stability (*cough* Theresa May *cough*). I live inside the veranda of my fiction, I don’t really want to be a writer, arghhh. A miniature existential crisis just after brushing my teeth!
Then a moment passed and I knew that wasn’t it – it’s that I was thinking about my writing all wrong. It’s not that I want to have written 2 novels, 6 short stories, 3 poems and an article, I just want to write stuff and and AND (this is the important bit) have it read. I want to put my voice into other peoples’ ears and have some bit of slime stick. Then as I sat down, the sense of “deadline” slipped from the hull-side of my mind, where I hadn’t know it had sat, and I felt, looking at my be-scarfed future self, that it was a certainty and inevitability, future me will be a writer, in whatever form that takes. (Perhaps aided by another lesson from Barbara Oakley that process – not product is key when motivating oneself.)
It made sleeping very difficult as I really wanted to get up and do.
And so – the blog is reborn as my space to write the things that don’t demand as much time as a novel but which I want to get out of my mind come what may.
Please come with me, if you will, and relish whatever partially still-formed fruit I find underfoot.