Not been here for a while and not done any real work for a time. Life gets in the way of my writing. I get in the way of my writing. I am starting to think that I am my own worst enemy and that if I fail at anything it is not the odd trauma, drama and disaster but my own nature.
I have missed my deadline again. Leslie has been wonderful and told me to get it in when I have done it.
I have done some writing but between my Dad being ill, my pulling my back and the general computer dramas when a motherboard burns out, the replacement hardrive burns out - within two weeks of being installed - and having a certain popular satellite television package put in place which caused a cessation of access to the internet have all taken their toll. I find myself watching endless real life crime tv while reclining on the sofa with a heat pack on my back - forty eight hours of that and I understand while OAPs become paranoid - my father was one of them for six weeks after they got it he was security mad. Satellite TV can do funny things. Namely I have watched more about UFOs and historical battlefields that is strictly good for you.
I am now sorting out the house and the office - which given all the burn outs and installations is a hurricane crime scene in itself. The partner is away this weekend visiting friends in Worthing - the Uni kind that never fade away like seems to happen with school friends in a more local location. I have distracted myself with cleaning, sorting and washing. But I have decided to view this arid writing period as a rest from the poetry that should serve me well.
The one thing that I have realised is that a few weeks without a reliable computer forced me to return to paper and pen. Of course I was finicky about the choice of both and find it hard to write without the "right" feeling pen in my hand or the "right" notebook (hence a plethors of both, unused and waiting for their moment). It have become something of a joy to write with a pen again. to feel the drag and pressure against the page; even the weight of the notebook in my hand as astride into my office felt right.
On my previous course when things got ahead of me and I stressed about not "wanting" to write my tutor reassured me telling me to read and relax and to some extent I now have confidence in my process. Maybe I am made to be distracted and angst ridden about life getting in the way. Maybe.
If I have gained nothing from this period of turmoil I have gained a love of pen and paper again. The pleasure of sitting quietly and writing in an almost automatic way has returned. I have also gained space between what I have written for the next assignment - so much so that when I return to each piece over the next week or so it will feel like reading them for the first time.
If this works then the traumas, distractions and disasters will have been worth it.....
