Has it got legs?

I think the fact that I’m a major league procrastinator has to by now be a given. You all know it, but what you may not know is how much of a flake I am too. I don’t stick at things. In fact I’m so bad at sticking at things, it’s an absolute miracle that I’ve managed to keep this blog up for over two years. I have absolutely no idea how that happened, at all, because usually you are lucky if they last more than a couple of months

A little over eighteen months ago, (alright, in January 2011 you pedants) I started up a different blog. Yes, another one I hear you sigh. This one had a purpose. This one was to be the year long diary of Mrs Josephine Fethering and her family. 365 whole posts (or more if I decided) about the lives, loves, trials and tribulations, of her friends, family, and numerous neighbours.

I managed to keep it going for a whole 19 days. Nineteen Days!

This morning I found it again whilst I was mooching around the cobweb covered areas of my t’interweb archives. I read it, I smiled, and I thought, “Did I write that?!” I got somewhat enthused, and began to wonder is it worth going back to it? Should I re-date some of those posts to this year, catch myself up and carry on? Should I re-date those posts to next year, carry on writing and schedule it all to auto post over the coming months and see what happens?

So my question to you dear blog followers is simple.

Please go and read this, and then tell me….. Would you like to know more? Are you curious, interested? Is the project one worth continuing? or in other words,

“Does it have legs?”

Advertisements

Cosy cats, or dark doings?

At Harrogate last week I was enjoying a pint of Theakston’s Crime Of Passion ale, and discussing with a fellow writer the distinct red tinge that the brewers have given the ale. I described it as like being infused with a hint of redcurrant cordial, whilst he was wondering who’s blood had been poured into the pint as a dye….

It was a flippant comment, but it was enough to give me pause for thought. I don’t generally think in these dark terms on a day to day basis, and I don’t find myself looking at everyday objects and wondering how I could use them to aid me in nefarious deeds.

What it did make me wonder was, since I don’t think in those terms, am I destined to write the sort of fiction where cupcake makers and cats solve the puzzle of who killed Colonel Mustard with the lead piping in the library? because I really don’t want to end up doing that. Or do I need to just look into the dark, dusty, unused recesses of my brain and find that devious, and deadly part of me that can figure out seven different ways to make your death in a nearby disused metal foundry look accidental?

Maybe I need to just get some lessons in Eskrima, which has recently been brought to my attention by a work colleague who is unnervingly brilliant at turning anything you give him into some sort of weapon.