How does it happen, that a week flies by without so much as a ‘Howdydoody’? I just checked when last I posted and withered slightly inside as I watched my New Year’s Resolution of daily – at least week-daily – writing fall to the floor and smash into a gazillion tiny, shiny pieces. A knack for the over-dramatic you say? Perhaps.
The thing is that I have been terribly busy living and, while wisps of fantastical stories have flapped about my head, mainly in the grey light of dawn, they have then flapped quietly out of my window and down the driveway, I have not felt like writing and found myself completely incapable of doing it. It’s not a good feeling.
You see, most of the flitterings and flutterings and star bursts of wonderfulness that are happening right now, I am not quite ready – and perhaps never shall be – to divulge on such a public platform. I am here to tell you, though, that I keep trying to write. To catch those flapping wisps of stories, to tie them down to a page, but I’ve been failing miserably. Obviously.
I’m hoping that with this rambling, non-story, story, I’ll get my writing mojo back. While some of my stories will remain perfectly in the real world, there are others – like the arrival of my wonderful goddaughter, who wishes to be a pirate when she grows up, and will be a great source of stories and the fact that I now have a bird feeder (I am getting old!) and that the streets and restaurants and work are filled with people who ooze stories that make writing necessary. They deserve to be strung into sentences like fairy lights.