I usually have a draft ready, little notes of interesting things that happened, jotted down, as they happen.
I am a writer, that’s what I do.
Except – I didn’t, or I haven’t…
I actually looked in my Diary! I feel shame at that as if I have lost my sense of self, it’s only been a week… so how come I cannot recall all those silly, funny, quirky anecdotes to share? Erm, I stare blankly at the TV but it doesn’t tell me –
the mean smug %$x*! ( ha I always wanted to write swearing like that, and how come it always includes $ but rarely £?)
So, Dear Diary, we begin on our reminiscing
A week of scribbled notes in pencil, pen and strange undecipherable blots
Dates, meetings, work times and shorthand that no longer makes sense
The odd smiling face and the frowny ones too 😦
A few stars and doodles
so that was my week, it seems
written & drawn out in my hand
but what does it mean?
I mean – really mean???
Is there a hidden subliminal message to my present self
sent by my younger hand to the future?
Was I attempting to convey emotions and remind me
of some secret truth?
Hey! That was good but a bit deep…and yes, as it happens, I remember it all now!
In the last week I did the following:
- served cheese, sausage rolls, made hampers ( I will NOT mention the C word).
- ran about on a cold West Coast beach, making rubbish sandcastles,
- picking up pebbles/shells (now installed in my slowly developing seaside themed garden)
- and drawing/writing in the sand *see below for my beach poem
- walked up and down and round & round,
- listened to live music.
- did those yucky cleaning jobs that make my bones feel mushy,
- thought about cleaning my car (didn’t get any further),
- watched TV, the British Bake Off is a current favourite plus trying to catch-up on lots of documentaries
- read a couple of Stonking books – see The Slice this Sunday for reviews (one had me sobbing & swearing)
- and climbed that Editing Mountain.
Gasp! I am…. almost…. there!
[and to prove it: there will be a preview of a short story from my next eBook tomorrow, it’s called Killing the Rhino]
As it happens, Morecambe was having a Vintage Festival. Cue: 40-50s style dress, swing bands everywhere, fairground rides, stalls, old cars, various goods on sale; beer, food, loud music.. lots of hustly-bustly and happy people.
It doesn’t take much to make people happy. Not really. Music. Seeing other people, exchanging a smile, having a dance… it refreshes you in a way you can feel.
How could I have forgotten all that? Maybe I need to write more in my diary …
*the beach poem:
I went to the sea, to see what I could see, and I saw, the sea.