Posts Tagged "fear"
Brave
For some reason I’ve been really missing my Grandma this week. Not Grandma just before she died so much, but the Grandma from my childhood. Missing her meat pie, and the smell of her old sofa. Missing the rocking chair with the little cushions she’d sewed under the feet. Missing the rough grey of her woolen cardigans and her shooing us out the kitchen, and sitting at the breakfast bar on high orange-topped stools watching cartoons on the tiny television.
I was very very lost when she died in March this year. It brought home a lot of other loss and grief and fear, fear of growing up I guess. As I found my way through, I would hold words of her close like a talisman. She would tell me often how she had lived a good life and held no regrets. She was fearly fearless, my Grandma, very self-reliant, practical and yet full of kindness, and moving forward I vowed I would be like her – no regrets. So I have been holding my head up and taking leaps. Project, ideas, plans. I have been trying to make the best of every day, trying to not wait till a tomorrow. Living spontaneously and fearlessly and creatively. Grandma would be most proud of a bold and daring grand-daughter, a heroine, not a damsel in distress, and I want to be someone she would be proud of.
I’ve been feeling a bit scared again lately. Just overwhelmed really. The responsibility of guiding two lives in the right direction weighs heavily some days. I don’t really know what I’m doing but I’m doing my best. And so because I was missing her, I ordered a pot plant and sent it to myself, from her, and it’s just arrived.
Thank you Grandma, for my plant and your words. I’m getting there you know, I promise. x
Mark making
Today hurt. Physically, I mean. A lot. This relapse is a persistent sod, that’s for sure.
BUT it didn’t win today. It didn’t define it. Despite undercoating the day in a thick and heavy pressure, pain won’t be the thing I remember about today.
Today will be about an afternoon in the sunshine, watching Kai play cars as I sat and untangled the heavy knot of wool I have got in a mess (again) strand by strand. And then about the bucket of water and the thick, crumbly chalks we both carried to our old out-house wall which we stood by and covered in our scribbles, our bold water-soaked paintbrush stokes, and our hand prints, big and small.
Read MoreWriter’s (Starting) Block
So here I am. About to take my metaphorical first steps. My feet are poised hesitantly behind a thick line in the dirt and I am waiting for the whistle. It’s bit like at sports day – ever so often the excitement, the sense of forward momentum pushing me forward makes my toes creep over the line, only to be swiftly shuffled back again quick. No. Not yet toes. Wait.
My creative writing course materials arrived on Friday. Shiny new textbooks and crisp timetables and study planners giving me that lovely new-term feeling. Right, time for action then. Time to get this baby STARTED!
But first off? Well, I’m going to need some new stationary. Obviously! Can’t be a writer without the right stationary.
Kai needs a nap so off I trundle to Partners, timing it so he’ll fall asleep in the pushchair before I get there to give me extra browsing time. I have such a weakness for stationary. I spend a good twenty minutes deciding on the right pens, testing them out on the little pads of paper. Nope, too scratchy. Nope, too thick and splodgy. Ahh, perfect. This is a writer’s pen. Smooth, flowing, black ink making thin, deliberate lines. I leave a few swirly loops on the pad as demonstration of my obvious writing potential. I’ll need six. Obviously. In case one runs out mid-creative outpouring. And a red one and a blue one too. For contrast. And underlining.
What’s next? Notebook. Hmm. Lined or blank? Oh god. I can’t decide. Blank seems… scary, daunting. That’s a lot of space to fill. A lot of blank pages. And what if I start writing something and my writing starts slanting upwards? How on earth would that look? How on earth could I dare to call myself a writer if I couldn’t even write in a straight line?? It’s going to have to be lined. I like lines – they make me feel… safe. Besides, the lines fill up some of blankness. That means I’ll have to do less writing to fill it. Quick thinking Josie. It’s that kind of creative thinking that’s going to make you a GREAT writer.
Hmm. There’s a lot of different colours. Which is more writery do you think? Winnie the Pooh? No – not quite the serious image I’m looking for. Plain black? Mysterious and elusive - I like it. I picture myself seated at small table in a cafe, steaming cup of coffee at hand, gazing wistfully and agonisingly out of the window and making frantic (but perfectly straight) scribbles in my beautiful (black?) notebook. Ooh wait! A red and black swirly one. I like it – says mature and yet wildly creative. Dangerous even. Perfect.
Next up. Pencil case. Well, where else am I going to keep all my beautiful pens? Oh and my highlighter. And ruler. And surgically sharp HB pencil with pencil sharpener (in case I want to do some whimsical sketches to accompany my hard hitting literary observations). I am seriously tempted by a Charlie and Lola one (“I am too extremely very busy”) but it is pink. I don’t do pink (unless it’s milk). No serious writer would be seen dead with a pink pencil case. Black and unassuming it is (with a few anarchic spots).
Right I think that will do – Kai’s awake and I promised him we could sit on the grass and eat leaves for a bit. Ooh wait! A dictionary and thesaurus are on sale! Well that’s a must have. God only knows, I don’t know how to spell. And I am almost certainly going to need to know the various synonyms for important words like “very” and “nice” and “awesome”.
Home now. Kai’s in bed. It’s time to get going.
Oh but I think I better just cover my text books first. You know, in that sticky plastic stuff, because you just know that Kai is going to get banana or flapjack or dribble on them. And proper writers can’t be working from text books that have grubby baby finger marks all over them. And I have to get all the bubbles out. Obviously. No point doing a job if I’m not going to do it well.
Phew I think I better go to bed! Hard work this writing business…
Right then. Finally some free time. Stationary bought, books covered, timetable stuck up in a obvious place with blue-tack. Study guide read. Assessment guide read.
I flick through the workbook. Scary phrases like “writing schedule”, “drafting”, “dialogue” jump out at me.
Oh god. I’m going to to have to do some writing now aren’t I?
What do you mean there’s no whistle? You mean I can just go? Whenever I want?
But I’m scared.
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