To sleep... perchance to dream...

Seems a lot longer than three days since I last posted here and yet things have changed so much, even in that short time. That's one of the problems with living life at my age I find, though now I think about it, maybe it's just me. Maybe I've always been this way, up one day and down the next, maybe that's why I can write well for days, and then find myself struggling to string half a dozen decent words together.

A good sleep will often help to clear the logjam, almost as though my inventive batteries are getting recharged, and ideas will often turn up in the middle of the night only to be forgotten again by morning. I've tried leaving a pad on my bedside in the hope of scribbling down these vital snippets of information that will provide the basis for the next great novel of the century, and what do I get? A string of flat and meaningless words that would be rejected out of hand even by a 'Teletubbies' scriptwriter.

So whatever it is that happens in those early hours of the morning, it's no magic formula, no road to instant success, and actually I think that's a good thing. I don't find writing easy, never have done, though there are times when it flows so sweet it's like you turned on a tap. Times when you think 'That's it - I've cracked it - it's all downhill from here...' Only it never is, and next day I find myself back struggling to string together half a dozen decent words. Seem to remember saying that somewhere else on this blog, but there's no harm in that. It's de trewf man... I swear.

23:00 Friday, 6 months almost to the day before I leave for Falmouth. Haven't started counting the weeks yet, let alone the days, but it's only a matter of time. Travelling over to Rochdale on Sunday for the Rams second league game of the season; always a good day over there, they have a good bunch of fans. Just hope we put up a better show than we did last season. The game was played in a blizzard, and we were abysmal. I'll have to let you know the result next week.

Now I head for bed, tired but reasonably content with life. and just in case you wondered, the writing did come a lot easier on Tuesday, and like a dream today. Can't help wondering what tomorrow will bring.

Chris

Some days...

... are good, some are bad. This has been one of the worst I can remember for a while. Apart from the half decent couple of hours I put in this morning the whole day has been a washout. Best to hold my hands up when that happens I find, admit that today just wasn't meant to be, and head for bed. Yes, even at 20:00...

It's not been all disaster though, I do have one good bit of news since my last post, Pia and I are working together again. I could tell you how I stuck to my guns, upheld my principles and forced her to admit defeat, but it would all be b******t. Actually I grovelled, which makes today's wordblock all the more frustrating.

Still, as long as I'm still breathing, there's always tomorrow.

So long for now, the sooner I sleep, the sooner I'll be there.

Chris

Life's a bitch...

Meatloaf told me that, me and some 5,000 other fans (or however many the Sheffield Arena accomodated that night). I used it as the theme for a 'short' short I wrote for one of the Fish competitions, 300 words or less, and never quite got it polished to my satisfaction.

Still, if I ever come across any other contests with that limit, I'll dig it out, dust it off and start all over again. A Yorkshireman through and through, a 'waste not - want not', and 'if ever tha does owt for nowt, allus do it for thissen' kind of guy, that's me. Certainly I never throw away anything I write, swear I've got stuff tucked away going back centuries.

Pia and I have gone our separate ways it seems, personality clash, artistic temperament, call it what you will. Shame actually, I quite liked her, she had some cracking ideas and certainly knew how to motivate me - even if it was mostly with a big stick. Now though I've taken a couple of sleeping pills in the hope of getting a decent night's sleep for once. My eyes are drooping, my hands are slowing on the keyboard and, if it wasn't for spell-checker this piece would be well nigh unreadable. Another day draws towards its conclusion.

Time for bed I think...

Chris.

A Pause for Reflection

A strangely philosophical post this morning. Here I am, sitting on my bed staring out across the Aire valley to the first, straggling houses of Wrose up there on the brow of the hill. The sky a pale shade of blue, the sun, warm for a change (though that may have something to do with the glass), a light breeze barely shifting the budded branches of the two flowering cherries that stand in the front garden.

High up I see the vapour trails, big jets coming up from London, flying high and heading for Scotland before turning left and setting out across the North Atlantic for destinations such as New York, Montreal, Washington DC maybe. Places I've never been... not yet anyway.

Hanging from the curtain rail are two multi faceted pendants, nothing more than lumps of tinted glass really, but symbolic in their own way I suppose. The top one a small heart, and a couple of inches lower a large teardrop... a definite sense of irony there I feel. They both swing slowly, independently as the slight breeze ruffles the tall evergreen outside, before easing its way in through my window.

In midwinter, the sun is all wrong. Too low and too weak, but not today. Today I sit here with a mug of coffee still steaming in my hand and watch, entranced, as the pendants turn in the whispers of wind, sending slender shards of rainbow light sliding across the walls and flickering over my bare legs.

It's one of those magic moments. Outside I can hear the birds and the crocuses are out in clusters of gold and purple. Soon it will be the daffodils...

Oh yes, I think Spring is on its way...

Chris

Monday... I've had better days, and there's still 6 hours of it left. Was a time I'd have logged off at this point, to be seen no more till dawn's early light. Not any more though, instead of 'logging' off, I'm 'blogging' off and letting you feel the sharp edge of my tongue for a change.

On second thoughts, maybe not... I got called away, and now we're into Tuesday afternoon my mood has changed again. I've been following the progress of those doing the two year distance learning course for the MA and some of them are finding it hard to fit in all the time required, maybe doing the course 'on campus' was a wiser decision for me in ways I'd never suspected.

I'm feeling my age again today, even my grandson calls me 'Grumpy', though I think his mother encourages him in that, a matter for which she will pay dearly at some time in the future. But I'd got myself into a groove, well, rut would probably be a better word, and I need to dig myself out of it sharpish. I'm writing too slowly and too... damn, what's the word? Ordinary comes close, mediocre even closer and yet neither is quite what I'm trying to say. Crap would probably cover it, but I'm trying to cut down on the bad language, particularly when Evie Rosie is spending the day here.

Oh, and talking of swear words, the Swedish witch is back, and I have to admit I misjudged her. She was more than happy with the story we wrote together. So much so that I now have another to write and only 8 days in which to complete it, and maybe a third to come later. Good practice for the curse, sorry course, in the Autumn I suppose, so what am I doing here? Fiddle- faddling my grandma would have said, Grandma Steer that is, on my mother's side... Hmmm, now I think of it, she'd have told me exactly the same as Pia only without the swearing - 'stop wasting time boy - get on and do it!'

So here we go again...

Chris

P.S. Sorry, I got distracted. I was going to say that I'm going to Falmouth in the hope of getting the good slapping I don't think I'd get from the distance learning option. I'll be working with (mostly) younger, less cynical people in the hope that their enthusiasm will kick start a career in writing. Something I should have done years ago...
And that's about it...
You can go now...

I'm not sure how long it is since I last posted here. Three days maybe, but right now I'm too tired to worry, too tired to check, and certainly too tired to care. The story I've been working on for, (and with), Pia is done at last. I sent it early this afternoon, and then spent hours wondering what her reaction would be. Her response was something along the lines of 'change a single word and you're dead...', and not a rude word in sight.

Actually I'm quite worried about her, think she must be sickening for something, though I'd put money on it that she'll be back come morning with a conversation that will start - 'Well, now I've had chance to read it properly, don't you think... '

Why the hell did I ever think that being a writer was a glamorous occupation for such a playboy of the western world as myself? Only reason I can come up with is insanity.

So yes it's true, I got Falmouth's acceptance letter this morning. It's sitting on the coffee table as I write this, and in the morning I'll complete my confirmation, send them an OBSCENE amount of money and start looking forward to October 5th.

If I wasn't so old, I'd want the months to fly by, but old age brings some sense, even to someone like me. The days are too precious to waste them now, I'd rather spin them out as long as I can if that's okay.

Thanks for listening, call by again some time, even say 'Hi' if you like. I'll be around.


Chris

Well, I got the email today, the one I'd been hoping for. The University of Falmouth have confirmed my place on the MA course in Professional Writing starting in October. It does feel weird though, a guy my age going to University - unreal is one of the first words that springs to mind.

Think I'll leave it at that for today, so much to think about.

Chris

New month, same old problems. Damn, for some reason I thought getting the interview done and dusted would settle my nerves a bit, but it hasn't. I'm about as jumpy as a ferret on an f***ing fireguard.

'Calm down man, you'll get your answer soon enough.'

Yeah... right... easy for you to say, but then you don't know how much I really want to do this. You probably think I've flipped at last, that my fear of Alzheimers has finally sent me hurtling over the edge of insanity. But I'd be happy to argue the point with you any time, preferably over a pint of best Cornish Bitter. I've looked at doing a degree so many times and never really found one that lit my fire, until now.

'Who's arguing? Your life, your decision... Besides you might actually be good at it... Better than you were at Banking anyway! Put your heart into it, and see what emerges at the other end.'

Hmmm... yeah, that's what I intend to do. Shouldn't really be writing about it now anyway, it just makes me nervous, and I should be writing that story for the Stockholm Valkyrie. She'll be at my throat again any time now yelling 'Is it finished yet, is it finished yet?.'

Yes on second thoughts I'd better go. My fingers have warmed up nicely, the story is there in my head just waiting to flow across the page like warm honey... time to go write I think. Bye...

Chris