One of the things I said to myself, in my head, about what I’d do this year was “write more”. You, lucky readers, will be the beneficiary of this challenge I set myself.
I used to write; I’ve kept journals, written bad poetry, composed short science fiction stories, started many other stories: autobiographical, completely fanciful, romance, realist; and each time I’ve let it fade away, to sit quietly at the back of my mind, niggling, kneading but not enough to nudge me. There has always been an excuse. I’m working long hours, I have this child to raise, I commute too much; and the quieter ones, I’m not good enough, who would want to read this, I’m not clever enough. Well I’m not listening to these excuses anymore.
I’ll never be good enough if I don’t start. I’ll never be clever or witty or engaging enough if I don’t practice. I’ll never finish that novel inside me (or 2 or 3 or more) if I never keep going, make time, build rhythm and routine, stretch my wings, open my heart, take the plunge, be ready to be judged and to strive for better.
You, dear, poor reader, are the recipients of my resolve. I will keep churning out little posts for you to consume, consider, condemn or condone.
I can’t tell you how I’ll take criticism, I’m still learning, but I can say I will keep working at this thing called writing. I will keep putting finger to touchpad, hand to keyboard, pen to paper, to reawaken those writing muscles, to rebuild those skills that I had and let fester.
I’ve also started a Masters. There’ll be writing involved there as well, and in some small way my first subject has inspired me to keep this blog and be vigilant about entries. I forgot how freeing and refreshing it is to write things down. Recording your day or exploring an idea on a page can take you many places that you often don’t visit.
So, prepare for my experimentation, my exploration and my words. Be kind where you can and be gentle when kindness won’t do.