I hadn’t really thought about it, until I said it, but it really is true….
“I’m okay, while I am around people, but as soon as I am alone, that’s when it all goes wrong. The longer I spend alone, the more my confidence errodes.”
What is it about being alone for days at a time that drains every little bit of confidence from me? Even if I try going out I get nowhere, because I am still just somewhere on my own with no one to talk to….
How do you stop what you fight so hard to have every day from disappearing when you are alone? How do you hold on to it?
I have it in me, I’ve shown it this week. Why can’t I just make it stay?
This year, on All Hallows Eve, I am heading over to Waterstones in Cheltenham for their Halloween Fright Night event. A delightful aquaintence of the Boyf and I is participating in the early evening event to showcase his awesome YA vampire novels, Blood and Alchemy, books one and two in the Mercian Trilogy.
The adult event which follows features the horror writers David Moody, Adam Nevill, Wayne Simmons and Joseph D’Lacey. All of these authors are new to me, because if there was one thing I’ve learnt from all my years attending book/writing festivals, that readings, and face to face events are a fabulous way of discovering new authors.
With this in mind, I decided to have a bit of a peek at their profiles on Fantastic Fiction.
I’m sensing a bit of a theme in appearance here….
Clockwise from top left, David Moody, Adam nevill, Joseph D’Lacey (the exception that proves the rule?) and Wayne Simmons
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?”
“I couldn’t take on someone else’s kids, I’m too selfish”
It was something said to me in conversation a few days ago, and something that’s hit the nail on the head of how I’m feeling right now.
I always believed I could do it. Thought I was generous enough in spirit and had enough love to share that I could deal with it. Turns out I’m not, and I don’t.
Playing third violin in the orchestra of a relationship is a lonely place to be. You are behind the child, behind the demands of the mother, and unable to ask for the support of the father, because any such request always get’s the same response.
“How dare you think you are more important than my child?”
So what do you do when one person in a relationship puts a higher value than the other on their partner? When you know that the person you love will never put you first? For me, right now, the answer is,
“I don’t know”
Or maybe it’s just as simple as admitting I really am too selfish, and maybe that’s why I don’t and never will have kids of my own.
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.
I’ve been sat watching the Fantastic Four again. Well, I say watching, what I’ve actually been doing for the last 106 minutes is trying to work out just how exactly The Thing has sex, and what might happen when he climaxes.