I spent another hour this evening clearing the back of Aunt Dee’s garden and unearthed two more finds (see pics – I knew one of them was a daffodil/narcissi type thing. The other one, it turns out, is forsythia).
I also went exploring the internet last night, managing to avoid youtube this time, and instead sticking mainly to writerly related subjects.
Scrolling through the many, many blogs and websites, I was hit by an overpowering attack of inadequacy. It pursued me into the night, making me wake up at four this morning to ask myself how I dared to call myself an aspiring award-winning writer (who has yet to win an award) when everyone else in the world was clearly incredibly creative, talented, and much more accomplished than I could ever imagine being.
People are doing such astonishing things – creating beautiful places, documenting their smart, clever lives. And lots and lots of people are writing. All over the world people are writing beautiful poems, stunning novels, plays, movie scripts and more.
Then it started to get bright, so I sat by the kitchen window with my cup of tea and watched the sea turn from midnight blue to pearl grey, and decided that in the end it was probably better to have aspired to something than not to have tried at all.
So I’ve decided to send off another four poems,( this time to The Stinging Fly, a very clever publication featuring both fiction and poetry whose deadline for submissions is the end of this month.) And then I went to work.
When I came back Domhnall was sitting in front of the television in Aunt Dee’s chair, eating my brand new replacement box of crunchy nut cornflakes, watching The Simpsons.
Closing the door after him a little later, I noticed the eccentrically dressed red-haired lady standing a few yards away, watching us.
It may have been my imagination, but I’m almost sure she looked angry.
I also went exploring the internet last night, managing to avoid youtube this time, and instead sticking mainly to writerly related subjects.Scrolling through the many, many blogs and websites, I was hit by an overpowering attack of inadequacy. It pursued me into the night, making me wake up at four this morning to ask myself how I dared to call myself an aspiring award-winning writer (who has yet to win an award) when everyone else in the world was clearly incredibly creative, talented, and much more accomplished than I could ever imagine being.
People are doing such astonishing things – creating beautiful places, documenting their smart, clever lives. And lots and lots of people are writing. All over the world people are writing beautiful poems, stunning novels, plays, movie scripts and more.
Then it started to get bright, so I sat by the kitchen window with my cup of tea and watched the sea turn from midnight blue to pearl grey, and decided that in the end it was probably better to have aspired to something than not to have tried at all.
So I’ve decided to send off another four poems,( this time to The Stinging Fly, a very clever publication featuring both fiction and poetry whose deadline for submissions is the end of this month.) And then I went to work.
When I came back Domhnall was sitting in front of the television in Aunt Dee’s chair, eating my brand new replacement box of crunchy nut cornflakes, watching The Simpsons.
Closing the door after him a little later, I noticed the eccentrically dressed red-haired lady standing a few yards away, watching us.
It may have been my imagination, but I’m almost sure she looked angry.
Great pic of the forsythia- nice to see it , to see it nice!Sorry that should be Bruce Forsythia.
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