To begin again is always the hardest thing.
Facing that blank page is daunting; it screams out in its purity, gives rise to palpitations and forces us to consider our options for the first time in a long time. It’s easier to carry on the story, pick up where you left off last time. The knowledge that you can recap and maybe gain an idea that you were heading towards, so that you can carry on with this in mind. It’s easier and comforting, when you have your base characters and plot worked out you can somehow spring from this much smoother than beginning afresh. Whether this is because the carrying on from old stock just means you are merely filling or that it just makes you more secure: I’m unsure. Perhaps it’s the opposite and it’s the new beginning that is just too daunting. There is too much potential to fail, too much that could go wrong, and so, under the pressure of all ‘the could be’, we simply freeze.
IT’s just that initial burst, that first nudge, the one little but huge step to get us across the starting line, once this happens then we can easily adapt to the new scenario – yet sometimes it seems too hard to start.
Apparently today is the three year anniversary of my blog. I don’t have a special poem prepared or anything and it was a nice little surprise that it remembered at all.
Though, I would like to give out my thanks to everyone who has read, liked, commented on my posts over the years: it really does mean more than I can express. You guys are awesome, especially those who seem like dependable online friends, interaction with you all has been something I never expected.
I may not always be active or extra talkative but I do appreciate you and your blogs, and your wonderful prompts and inspiration. Long may they continue to keep me sane (ish) as I pour over your words and in turn leave you with mine.
Thank you all, and in the words of a great muse.
March has been taken in a bit of a stride around here. To begin with I haven’t felt like I have had enough time to sit down and really focus on writing or reading or pretty much anything that will bring joy. Instead I have found myself resorting to hibernation mode on the days where I could have had some time to get things done; then afterwards kicking myself for wasting time.
Yes, at the beginning of March, I was already to march into the sunrise, head full of goals to complete and a list of things to do: yet somewhere along the way I got lost.
Do you ever get those days where you just feel you have had enough so you sit down and take a breather and some selfish time to yourself, and suddenly a few hours have been lost. Well that was my month of March really. Then tonight I find that I have literally lost an hour (darn those stupid time switches), and suddenly I feel awake again and aggrieved at all the time lost.
It keeps ticking whether we make the most of it or whether we waste it: and I guess we all need to feel as though we are wasting our time in order to do something about it.
So I shake my fist at you March, you have been my downfall and now I am protesting! Give me back my time and we shall have no more quarrel!
*marches off into the night and slams the door*
Take a read through the other SoCS posts over at Linda G Hill’s blog
My hair is a sprawling nest of endless wires that lashes out in angst but fuzzes and fizzles under pressure. Like me, my hair is wild and unyielding, or at least the person that I want to be. More likely my hair is like me because it is messy and stubborn, not one to be trapped into a style and will break free from restraints even if they are helpful.
I cannot seem to trap my hair, beneath hair slides and bobby pins the way other women can. Those ladies with the luscious locks than can wear sleek styles and look like Audrey Hepburn or the girls that can scrape their hair into a loose pony tail and look classically lovely: why can’t my hair do this? Instead i’m left looking like a severe headmistress or a tomboy.
My mother always told me ‘you are your hair’ and I never really realised while growing up that this was actually a really mean thing to say. I know how she meant it (i think), i guess she was trying to tell me I looked nice with longer hair yet at the same time instilling in a small child that she can only be worth something because of her hair: parents really do fill you with the faults they had eh. Perhaps this also helped with my absolute dread of going to a hair dressers .Which reminds me I really should go get my hair cut, it has after all been a few years now…
Check out Linda’s blog for more inspirational posts
Wouldn’t it, wouldn’t it
Wouldn’t it be funny
If a lady had a wooden tit
Wouldn’t it be funny
Ok so that isn’t a particuarly pc rhyme but this was triggered and remembered from an old poetry book I had as a kid (this happened before from a SOC) , though I’m starting to think that this wasn’t exactly a book meant for children, at least not the age I was anyhow. But regardless we are trailed off the subject matter here.
Would or wood? the same sounds yet very different meaning it just gets confusing as so many things in life can do. If only we could see the wood from the trees or perhaps we should be hoping we can see the trees instead of just wood as all I seem to be seeing recently are trees being pulled down to make way for roads and building, and one day soon I worry I will wake up to find that I’m living in a concrete street. Yes it might be easier to maintain with no gardening to worry about etc but surely we should be valuing nature surrounding us at a much higher price.
Recently I saw a blog post which made me smile as it gave me hope that Spring wasn’t too far off and I’m looking forward to the days getting longer and the crisp bright mornings. I’m even looking forward to seeing if I get a new family of starlings in the garden this year, wouldn’t that be grand.
Bring on the Spring!
This post was inspired by the prompt from Linda G Hill
And the lovely post from KIWINANA
Struggling with her soul
Was she a beauty or beast?
Inspired by #horrorhaikuesday