No words came to me today.
So, I was tagged by antimonysouler. Suppose I’ll do it, but I promise nothing interesting. I’m not as hipster as most writers here.
Why I Write
Because I have things in my head and need to get them out.
Eh? My writing looks like words on a page or screen. What is is supposed to look like? Although I do have damned good handwriting.
Sit in café (can’t write at home), stare at blank page, drink coffee, watch a serial on one half of the screen (if using laptop), procrastinate, then write or don’t write. And never be stressed by what the result is.
At the Moment
I haven’t written in a while. I plan to rectify that tomorrow, if I can.
Some will say that not writing every day is a shortcoming, that I should if I want to be a ‘serious’ writer. I call bullshit on that - I write when I feel like writing, and don’t force anything. Better to wait and tell a story I have in my mind well, rather than force some piece of crap out.
A Writer Is
Someone who transfers words, ideas etc from their mind to a form of physical or digital media. Nothing more, nothing less.
Question - if I ‘like’ a cosplayer’s page on FB, does that mean I want to sleep with them?
My ex seems to think so, and seems to think I am a completely different person than I was before I went to camp.
Opening the skylight in my room, the cold blast hits me. Refreshing, sobering, mesmerising. Peering out into the gloom, I see nothing but fog. I smell things, I hear things, I feel things; but only see one thing. The Union Flag, hanging proudly from the balcony in the classroom next door to my annex. The flag of my home country.
Why do I not feel pride? Why do I not think of my motherland fondly all of the time? I picture the British countryside with a sense of longing, a desire to just hop on a bicycle with a backpack on my back and go.
Why does life have to be so complicated? Why is it increasingly more difficult to enjoy the simpler things in life? Perhaps that’s one of the reasons I left the UK for Poland. Perhaps it’s also one of the reasons why I left behind the city life in Gliwice for the unassuming country life here in Strzyżów. I really do not regret anything, and when I finally nod off to sleep I do so feeling free.
* * * * *
And then I wake up, mid-morning, to sunlight streaming through the very same skylight. I stick my head out and gaze upon the landscape before me. The fog has disappeared, my view of the wooded mountain unobstructed. Birds hum their cheery odes to nature and to each other; people mill around on their daily errands.
And still the sunlight comes. It’s then, and only then, that I realise that I now have that which I most desire. Peace.
What a difference four years makes..
What on earth did I do to deserve the position I find myself in right now?
4:43am and I’m still up.
Making a super-fucking-epic rock playlist because I can.
Not having work or a social life sucks.
Slept late. Feel ill. On with the editing, with a pot of Twinings Lady Grey..