Sorrows will cease.

You know that feeling? It’s the end of another frustrating day. A day which started off seemingly bright enough but got derailed by unexpected obstacles. On days like those I just want to go back to bed, pull the covers over my head and hide. I don’t want to be an adult. I want to be in my blanket fort colouring in…..

It sucks sometimes. Being grown up. Having responsibilities. Being in charge. Saying the wrong things. Prioritising the wrong things.

We were never promised a trouble free life. The Bible says we ” are born to trouble as sparks fly upwards”. In other words it’s a given. Trouble and struggles are an inherent part of our lives.

I was thankful to come across this reminder on Pinterest earlier. When I’m tempted to throw in the towel, to stop trying, to give my smallest amount I can physically give, let me remember this :

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Looking forward to that day!

Image from Pinterest.

Just write will you?!!!

We often feel, as would be writers that everyone knows the secrets to writing apart from us. That there’s some magical key that unlocks the gold from the dross and pours it forth from our pen.

This is not true. Just as each writer has their individual voice so each writer must find what works for them. What will motivate them to put something down, anything, on paper?

I’ll tell you what doesn’t motivate and this came as an epiphany to me, GUILT!

I’ve put it in block capitals because I feel that strongly about it. Guilt or fear do not motivate my best work. If that works for someone else well good for them.

Quotes such as ‘A writer writes’ , although helpfully meant, do not help because what happens in those times we’re  not writing? If we have a break from writing for a time, planned or unplanned, these kind of quotes can make us feel that we can’t cut it. That we are not true writers because we’re not rushing to set everything down on paper.

Some people are wired and inspired that way. Some are not. Whilst the discipline of daily writing is good practice it will not necessarily make us good writers. I would prefer a well written thoughtfully composed paragraph that takes shape over a few tries than an attempt to finish everything at once but being unsatisfied with the end result.

Part of writing is talent. Obviously. There must be a spark of creativity in our prose to keep people reading. But we would be naive not to understand the huge competitive field we are dipping our toes in.

Just as I don’t always update social media regularly so I do not always write. I don’t always feel inspired. A lot of time life feels boring.

Another problem I have is finishing things I begin to write. And how much I long to leave this here!!! Because I would find that amusing.

One of my major problems in writing is fretting that what I produce has to be perfect immediately. That the book or books I’m working on have to be ready for publishing straightaway, let alone the massive struggle to even get a book deal.

There are numerous quotes about how to begin to go about writing. I just read one about writing lying down, it sparked off this blog post, but I found it uncomfortable in practice!
There are also various writing prompts online and ways to counter writers block.

The most important thing is to find what works for you. Like anything in life a little common sense goes a long way.

Find what you feel passionate and inspired about and just write regularly. Whether that’s every day or weekly or monthly even. Yes, it’s best practice to try to write daily but life still demands to be lived so stop setting yourself unrealistic targets you are bound to fail.

Oh and the whole my story isn’t original, it’s too similar to this trilogy or that young adult genre or that classic, don’t worry about it. Unless you are blatantly plagiarising someone else’s work just write. It is believed there are only 7 stories in the world anyway with various permutations of characters and beginnings and endings. But you are unique and so will your writing be, if you let it…

Moving boxes.

She sometimes felt as if all she did in her life was move the boxes around from place to place. The problems that built up were appropriately stored in the problems compartment but what she would do when that got full up she wasn’t sure. Like a forest fire that begins with the yellow lick of flame and can’t be contained her life felt out of control.
Challenges she could accept, challenges she could deal with, it was the unexpected surprises she didn’t relish.
Telling herself she was luckier than some was no help since she actually had to live her life.

The problem with life she thought was its refusal to follow where she thought its path should lead. It was not smooth and pretty and held in place in regimented rows. Rather it was messy and tempestuous and wonderful.

And so what if she could not possibly hope to juggle all its pieces? Who could?
And wasn’t that on the whole, the thrill of it?

The trying, the rejoicing, the despairing but then the rest of sleep, the slumber of dreams and the waking to a new day. Which would be unfurled and shaken out like a duvet on the line on a blowy Spring day, and inhabited.

Funny old life.

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When I grew up in London as a child I very rarely saw animals unless we went on a school trip or to the zoo. Other than cats or dogs of course.
When I got married and came to live in Wales it took a little adjusting seeing cattle out on the hills all day. In fact I’m embarrassed to say I asked my husband if the cows and sheep were allowed to roam freely in the fields!

So yes I’m a city girl through and through but I’ve grown to like aspects of the country life, such as this parade of cows that stopped traffic on our way home from church tonight.

No longer Young.

No longer Young

Though we are no longer young
and each day new wrinkles and grey hairs invade
still we choose to love.

For hidden in the shadows of an ever changing face are
the laughter lines of a million memories
and countless nights that rode on a new morning’s dawn
as hearts were laid open and examined and understood.

Those precious nights when the only solace we found was talking on long journeys as the children slept or a myriad of alphabet games that made us giggle when life got too serious.

We have spent almost half our lives together but it would be remiss of me not to tell you how much you still mean to me. Each day I am grateful for your complete acceptance of me even the difficult bits that make you grind your teeth. And each day I am reminded in countless ways of all the good in you, your sense of humour that many never get past and mistake for flippancy, the way you father our children, wholeheartedly and with a sense of fun. The very many cups of tea and coffee you make me without being asked, more coffee lately.

The desire to better yourself. The way you suffer my tv programmes without complaining. Just for being you. Though we are no longer young.

And they are no longer young. Hands that once sought mine in solace and comfort have found their own feet and personalities, and dummies have been replaced with independence.

And however hard it is, those times there is very little in the bank to tide us over and another bill arrives or that important date that gets delayed again and again, I would still choose you and all our history together. Because corny as it is, I love you Jamie.