I have a secret.
All you good grammar people out there may well be shaking your heads in despair right now, but I have to tell you that I love writing.
I love words. I love putting them together. I love playing around with them. I especially love just sitting down and letting the words go wherever they want to.
In other words, making it all up as I go along.
It’s amazing what comes out when you’re not looking.
Now that can get a bit awkward. You happily start off in one direction, and then, before you know what’s happening, you write a sentence and end up in a right pickle.
Love it!
I have two writing projects on at the moment, well, three if you include the one that’s been lingering by the edge of the cliff for twenty years now waiting to put everyone out of its misery. And then, of course, there are the poems, and attempted short stories, and journal entries, etc, but we won’t go into those here.
I know you’re disappointed, but I have to maintain some form of dignity.
The first project is called.
Twigfern. Her life and all that went wrong with it. By One who Knows.
Only I’ve just changed her name to Leafmold because Twigfern was too nice.
The second is called.
The Ledgers Legend of Cornelius Audenberry III
Intrepid Explorer and Botanist to HRH Significanta Regina, Queen of Spry.
He’s quite new, and is inspired by my, Day of the Triffids, paintings.
All incredibly incredulous flower paintings need a botanist to explain why, don’t you think?
So.
Every so often the bug hits, and I start thinking about my little stories, and what’s happening to all my peeps in writing limbo land.
Are they frozen in time, waiting for me to pick up my pen again, or have they been getting on with all their getting ons while I’ve been out here playing around with smelly wax, gooey pastels, and sheets of metal?
Do they even miss me?
Last night I decided to go upstairs to my clean space, and get out my writing books. Not an easy feat considering that my notes and ponderings are all over the place, in so many different hiding places and note books that they may never see the light of day again.
Man! One day I am going to organize myself.
No, no, you can’t stop me. It has to be done.
Unfortunately, as I entered the clean space, I came upon this.
Yep, it’s still there, just hanging out waiting for me to get back in there and finish it.
So now I’m torn.
Again.
Between the poor, forlorn, patient quilt, and this.
Just can’t seem to catch a break …
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