I think about all I’ve published, as well as what I am writing. I’m chatty and often casual on a free blog post like this. To me, my blog here is talking over a coffee, or something harder…
As I sat at the man’s desk, my father-in-law next to me, as she stood a couple of feet away she asked next: “Really? What are you doing here?”
I do get it. I don’t live in a “la-la land”; and I believe most other people out here actually don’t.
Back to the actual point to the day: Kids having access to books. A love of reading is one of the best habits one can instill in a child. I saw my parents regularly reading for relaxation.
I entitled this post “Flowers On The Edge” at the last minute because I had felt she was much like a lovely flower and always living on the cutting edge of life – determined to live well no matter what.
Seriously, I’m not inherently anti-social or excessively aloof, or inclined to hermit-hood. I’ve been told (more than once) in person that I’m actually a pleasant person. I’m also “socially” NOT my uncle.
The more I write, the more I feel what I write is often a product of what has happened to me that I could not entirely control – memorable people, unexpected events, new ideas, and intriguing experiences and exchanges. All of us also occasionally feel ignorant, out of our depth, and even stupid…
We are truly UNIQUE as an author, really, only with our first published work. After that, while naturally we hope to grow and to improve, we will unavoidably always include aspects of the same again and again.
“Today is your birthday. Actually, it was February 29… and that was you. Of course you were born on a leap year. You couldn’t have had just an ordinary day every year like the rest of us.”
As for you visitors, and especially, followers. I can’t follow everyone back who follows me. However, don’t think I don’t notice you have been here.
I was also proofreading yesterday and I thought once more about the fact I am yet again unsure and uncomfortable about some of the things I have written, and I am writing about, in a manuscript. But that is also an aim. We should be unsure and uncomfortable at times in both our writing and in our reading.
Here, just north of London, may I at least have a cup of coffee first, I just woke up. My personal view in the face of all of this now increasingly may be summed up in six words: “I don’t know, I wasn’t there.”
The first time I ever mentioned – back in university nearly three decades ago – that I was interested in visiting France, my mother turned to me and was immediately harshly negative: “Are you nuts? They hate us.”
Remember this too. When we’re younger, we are often more challenged by what we believe to be older people’s “narrow-minded” and “old-fashioned” opinions. Someday, though, *you* will also be the older relative your younger relations will almost certainly consider out of touch and maybe even batty…
It’s not the history so much as the fiction that lights up the pages.