being alive, Coping mechanisms, creative writing, inspiration, life, mindfulness, Non Fiction, rambling, sharing, spilled ink, spilled thoughts, spilled words, thoughts, words, writeitout, writer, Writing
My brain is fried (as usual) but thoughts popping everywhere. This is actually good, it means it’s working. I like that, it’s been a while.
I’m going to ooze some thoughts here because a) I can and b) it helps me and c) bizarrely people seem to like it when I share.
It was a long summer, not literally longer then any other but figuratively seemingly so. In the same way that the last few years have felt long and tough but time is passing so fast I can’t keep up. I know you’ll get that.
It was a good summer all the same. Another transitional period for my family as both children are now at the secondary school. We packed in some fabulous trips to some great places, some of which maybe I’ll share if you’re interested…
…and now we have back routine and autumn is drawing in, longer nights, early mornings. The space left in my head now I’m not juggling and packing in so much, feels like there might be words waking up. I hope so, I miss them.
I’ve been thinking a lot recently about change, how I might adapt to make my creative side more accessible and help get the words flowing. The blockage I always come across like a giant stone wall is ‘pressure’. I don’t write well under pressure, it has to be a mind swirl of images and inspiration, making me taste the words I want to use, to shape the images I see into your mind too.
So when someone says ‘you’re not posting poetry, you should try and write.’ I can hear the cell door clanging and the locks clanking shut. I think it’s always been like that.
Also, titles… oh my golly gosh darn it, I hate thinking of titles. Someone I knew some time ago through WordPress used to number his poems, oh the envy I felt, such a good idea. It also, dear reader, gives you a chance to decide what a piece is about without preconceptions. I might take that on board. Little trickles of verse often flash through my head and I don’t commit them to paper because they are too small or too insignificant or unclear to have a title. I think that should stop. Just post it with a number and it’s out of my head. I miss his poems, his images in my head, but that’s life eh? Sometimes the well dries up. I don’t think mine has yet.
Another pressure I tell myself I’m stupid to feel, but it’s there all the same, is the assumption on the part of some readers that everything I write is true and personal. So, yes, of course I draw on some experience, I’m one of life’s watchers, an empath (allegedly) I do observe and store thoughts and feelings and then they mesh into poems or prose. Often what I write is fiction. FICTION (yes? Got that? And it’s not about you 🤣 although it might be 😏) yeah yeah, sometimes it’s not but hey, let’s just assume going forward it’s fiction, okay? Thank you.
A few years ago I met an erotic writer at a local charity night in a pub. She was introduced to me because the mutual friend knew I wrote erotica. Although he didn’t tell her that. She was a wizened older lady with bright red lipstick and when he introduced her as an ‘erotic writer’ she rolled her eyes and said “I do write other things too you know! There’s only so many times you can describe sex.” That sentence has never been more relevant to me. I love writing about sex, emotions, moods, erotica in general, it has so much texture. But I do write other things too, you know… I shouldn’t feel pressure to just write sexy.
Well, that seems to have cleared some cottonwool from my brain. Now all I need is a bracing wind and a cliff top and I might feel a little more alive! Unfortunately I have to go to work, so I’m going to hit publish before I change my mind and send these thoughts out into the world.
Happy Tuesday 🤗