Lacking the creative juices

“There are books of which the backs and covers are by far the best parts.”

Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens

The great artist in the sky is poised, pencil in hand, en train de dessiner.

He is drawing me.

Imagine the cartoon me. I’m sketchy and one-dimensional at present. I sit on a park bench along the Thames in the shade of a great plane tree. Millions of bottoms before me have sat on this very bench. Seagulls fly and cry high above me. Ducks drift past on the tide. I sit. I stare. The sun darts around in the soft breeze making patterns at my feet. Small boys kick a ball around on the field behind me and a jogger bounds past. The artist has drawn a thought bubble above my head. Save for the blurs and smudges from words hastily scrawled and then rubbed out, the bubble is empty.

I usually have quite a lot to say … perhaps, as Hubby suggests, I burble a bit.

Today the words elude me.

I’m not exactly sure what writers block is, but suddenly all the ideas I’ve had and my last few attempts at putting pen to paper (finger to keyboard) have just fallen flat.

It feels a bit like losing a coin under your car seat while driving. You know you had it, you have an idea where to find it, but you can’t see it. You can’t really get into a position to scratch around for it because the car is moving and you have places to go. Instead, you make a mental note to search again when … When? Some time.

Tuesday is my writing day.

But the thought bubble is blank and the coin I thought I had is proving difficult to find.

So, I’ve not achieved much on the writing front. But the whole day was not lost.

A great lover of sorting, cleaning, de-cluttering and throwing away, I put myself to the task today and that’s felt good. The spare room cupboard is now ready for my mama’s arrival on Saturday. Also, some house work is done and I’ve potted around the terrace (literally). The sun has been shining.

I know there will be better writing days.

And finally, at the end of the afternoon, I had a bit of a breakthrough on some story research I’ve been doing, the thread of which looked as though it had gone cold (apologies for the mixed metaphor). Happy days.

Whatever you are wrestling with, you might not figure it out today. Don’t stress, tomorrow is another day. Consider today your first draft!

Now I must change my jeans for something with an elasticated waistband. Hubby and I have been invited over to our Chinese neighbours for dinner. It’s always a feast. They have just returned from a cruise to Alaska. We will hear all about it tonight. They are great critics of 5 star accommodations abroad. I look forward to it!

SMALL PRINT:
P.s. Where I sat on the park bench, where time and tide and life busied past me, was once the Fulham Riviera – where the poor people around the Bishop of London’s estate went on sunny summer days. The wealthy Londoners went to Europe.
P.p.s. Our South African house plans continue in earnest. Is anyone interested in having a peek at the drawings?
P.p.p.s. Hubby and I went to see Dunkirk on the weekend – I seriously recommend it. Hubby’s theory is that it has a distinct Brexit narrative. Hmmm. If you think so too, here’s an interesting article to read.
P.p.p.p.s. I sincerely apologise for my last few ‘woe is me’ posts and my non-post today. More exciting times to come as we travel to Russia for 2 weeks in August!

Your first draft has permission to suck!

Stephen king remembers adding another rejection slip to the nail under the rafter above his tiny desk in his loft room, “Then I sat on my bed and listened to Fats sing ‘I’m Ready’. I felt pretty good, actually. When you’re still too young to shave, optimism is a perfectly legitimate response to failure.”

On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King

Q: Why can’t you hear a pterodactyl in the toilet?
A: Because the ‘P’ is silent.

your first draft has permission to suck

I thought this was funny!

Where am I going with this?

The lead character in Death in Paradise (series 5:3), DI Humphrey Goodman, is a stereotypical bumbling, disheveled Englishman solving murder cases on the fictional Caribbean island of Saint Marie.

He is lonely.

Encouragé by his islander colleagues (it’s a French island), he creates an online dating profile. That evening, having solved the crime, the murderer safely behind bars (cue the Agatha Christie formula), he is getting a lesson from his colleagues on how to talk to women. Continue reading Your first draft has permission to suck!

When worlds collide: our fertility story without a happy ending … yet!

“Writing isn’t about making money, getting famous, getting dates, getting laid, or making friends. In the end, it’s about enriching the lives of those who will read your work, and enriching your own life, as well. It’s about getting up, getting well, and getting over. Getting happy, okay? Getting happy.”

“Description begins in the writer’s imagination, but should finish in the reader’s.”

On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King

Have you ever imagined telling a personal story or making a confession?

our fertility storyIn the small hours of the night, when the seeds of the story begin to germinate, somehow the telling sounds better in your imagination. Such was the pattern of my thoughts a few nights ago, when I lay choked up with emotion and puffy-eyed, and Hubby suggested that I finally tell this story.

Deep disappointment is both difficult to carry alone and equally heavy to tell. Yes, we have told our immediate families and a couple of close friends. They have supported us in the best way they know how – sometimes helpful, at other times not so helpful, but always heartfelt. Continue reading When worlds collide: our fertility story without a happy ending … yet!

1st September

“Cords of saliva would collect on her lips; she would draw them in, then open her mouth again. Her mouth seemed to have a private existence of its own. It worked separate and apart from the rest of her, out and in, like a clam hole at low tide. Occasionally it would say, “Pt,” like some viscous substance coming to a boil.”

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

new seasonTuesday’s 1st September inspiration: a beautiful description from a novel which blew me away with its beauty at the time of reading it as a teenager, and still does. Some of my readers will know that part of the reason I write a weekly blog (occasionally more frequently) is because I want to live my life with purpose, on purpose, reflecting on life’s ups and downs and to be accountable. A little Birdie, my Hubby, my writer sister and my faith inspired me to start.

The other reason is because they say that if you want to call yourself a writer you need to write every day. Nyamazela.com accounts for 1 or 2 days a week. Continue reading 1st September

Everything has a beginning

“Suppose there were a great big hollow sphere made of looking-glass and you were sitting inside. Where would it stop reflecting your face and begin reflecting your back? The more one thinks about this problem, the more puzzling it becomes.”

Daddy Long Legs by Jean Webster

Journal, diary, blogI have been writing for many years and I’ve loved it always, but every piece must be found, formulated and pulled out of me.

I’ve written a diary or a journal most of my life – always delightful to re-read. Though generally not a daily writer, I keep coming back.

Some entries are trivial: “I broke a nail!” (1991 school diary complete with nail stuck into the diary with sticky tape).

Some entires are tentative: “How do I begin?” (2013 catching up after a few months of not picking up my journal). Continue reading Everything has a beginning