Tag Archives: writing

The Finished Posts of May

Since I started my run of posts for the last nine days of May with a post about how I was going to have a run of posts for the last nine days of May it seems only appropriate that I should end the sequence with a post about how I have now had a run of posts for the last nine days of May.

To those of you still here even though you now know how dull this post is going to be, or those of you still wading your way through that opening sentence (don’t worry, I’ll wait for you) all I can say is that the exercise taught me very little that I didn’t know before, but reminded me of things that I needed reminding of.

Firstly, you can’t beat a good vow. Promising to the world at large, even if the large part of the world at large isn’t listening, that you are going to post every day concentrates the mind wonderfully, or horribly if you like, forcing you into thinking of something, anything, to write about. Topics that you would normally dismiss with scorn, like for example walking upstairs, are viewed as having definite potential. Watch out for future posts about me using my bus ticket on the bus, the fact that the grass in my garden is green, and which leg I put into my trousers first.

What this reinforces is that writing causes writing. Starting a topic, no matter how mundane, will lead you in directions that you didn’t expect to go, grow jokes inside your head, give you sudden ideas for things you can put in which are actually not bad.

And, though again I knew this already, it reminded me that I have a group of loyal readers who are also now friends and who will come here and support me, even if my post consists of a Chinese take-away menu written backwards (watch out for it, there’s a joke about Pork Sour And Sweet that’s absolutely hilarious).

Most of all it’s reminded me that if writing makes you feel less depressed, then there is no sense in stopping writing because you are depressed.

So I’m looking forward to getting back into it, to hopefully thinking up stuff, to writing every day.

Though I might take tomorrow off.

I Yam What I Yam

Yesterday’s post did not come from the ancient hallowed halls of the Tinhouse. It came from the ancient hallowed halls of here:

A scaffolded, could-fall-down-at-any-second building.

Crikey, you should have stayed in the Tinhouse, I hear you say, at least it doesn’t have scaffolding.

This sign may make the reason more clear:

I joined the place a couple of months ago, and this was the first time I’d been there. They had some ad on the radio, I looked up their website and suddenly found myself filling in the membership form. I’ve been getting emails about courses, emails about readings and then got an email that yesterday was a day filled with seminars and workshops, so I went along.

I ended up in a creative writing workshop, where we were given a theme (Communication) that we wrote about for half-an-hour, then people read their efforts aloud and the girl running the course commented about what they’d written.

(I chickened out, my excuse is that it’s been so long since I’ve written with an actual pen that the crapness of my handwriting astounded me, plus I had so many crossings-out, and words and even whole sentences stuck in between others, that I reckoned I wouldn’t be able to find my way through the maze of scribble, but to be honest I was terrified).

Joining the Centre was a small way of telling myself that, though I do have another job, though I’ve never written a book and never earned a halfpenny (not that that would do much good, they went out in 1972) from writing*, I am still a writer.

Though not in long-hand.


*(actually, I’ve just remembered that’s not strictly true).

Doing What You Do

I’ve posted this post after the one before it in the hope that you will read the one before it after it.

No, my medication is fine, thank you, I just reckon that most people will start reading a blog from the top post downwards, so I’d like say this about the post that will come later, or did come sooner (look, if George Lucas can do it with the Star Wars series then so can I).

I made a mistake over the last couple of days. I believed that I was too depressed and unhappy to write, which is what I most love doing.

Then I realised that doing what I most loved doing would leave me too happy to be depressed.

So this morning on the bus I took out my netbook and started on a story for Sidey’s weekend theme. I had no idea where it would go and I didn’t care. It ended up surprising me, as many of my stories do, but that wasn’t what mattered. It took my mind of my (needless) stress and it made me happy.

This is what is important. This is me.