Like a spiral in a spiral or a wheel within a wheel, never ending or beginning…..instead of windmills in my mind there is an abundance of endless stories, whirring around and around, half typed and stored on my laptop in a folder entitled ‘Half Written Blogs’.
January has passed in a blur and it’s now midway through February. At some point last year I was supposed to have finished writing a book. A deadline I had set myself. I have the outline of the story and the characters. I’ve had brilliant advice from a couple of authors and fate put me in front of publishers and ‘people in the know’. But I wasn’t ready, it wasn’t finished, pfffft it was hardly started and now it’s lying dormant. Yes. I’m annoyed at myself.
I spend a lot of time writing for other people, a task which I really enjoy. Short articles, blogs, copy for marketing. It’s interesting work and it makes me an asset at the pub quiz because of random facts I learn when researching each piece. But what I really, really love is writing for myself. Yet I haven’t made room for it in my life. Meeting deadlines, paying the bills, time for others or old fashioned procrastinating always takes priority. (You may recognise this scenario.)
There is so much I want to write about. Generally. From St Paul and the Broken Bones to Madeleine Peyroux. Applying for a new passport and looking back at the previous ones to see the aging process in slow motion. Joan Eardley paintings. Tenement flats. The heartbreak of Dementia. Roundabouts and crazy drivers. Miscommunication. Old people dying alone. Work etiquette. Impressive people with good intentions. Vulnerability. Rage at politics and travel bans. Racism. Our naked neighbours. Strangers on planes.
The half written blogs folder is pretty full.
Now at 6pm on a Friday I’m determined to finish and publish this article because another week has passed and I have to – want to - write something for me. I refuse to log off until it's done. Perhaps someone reading this will say ‘Me too Annie! I’d really like to be doing This or That’. Maybe you could nudge me in a month and I nudge you back? Commitment without excuses. ‘Don’t disappoint me, stick to the plan’. You know the drill. It's easier with an acquaintance, loved ones let you wriggle out of it with excuses.
I know everyone wants to write a book, or nearly everyone. We all carry around stories, the fun and frivolous ones that are easy to tell or the painful kind, hidden with the skeletons in our closet. Stories spark ideas and discussion and in sharing, I truly believe they help others.
My book, if interested, is unlikely to help others. It's a murder. Blood, deception and greed. On a bookshelf near you, one day soon. Hopefully.
Comments always welcome.