I have déjà vu. Once again, I’m rewriting my manuscript. Several months of fading motivation, a journey to my father’s family reunion and six weeks of travel around Europe where I had plenty of time to sit back and think, have culminated in a total rewrite of my father’s story.
I have been seriously slack. I have not written anything for this blog for weeks. It isn’t because I haven’t known what to write about. It isn’t that I haven’t had time. It is because I have not been motivated. So, what would motivate me now? The date of course.
If you think of it, our lives are built on stories. Our stories begin with our birth, our mothers relate tales of various levels of pain in labour; often our details are written down or at least discussed with family and friends, our length, weight, the colour of our eyes,
I woke up this morning another year older and no closer to knowing what I want to do with the rest of my life. Well-meaning adults, perhaps because they cannot think of anything else to say, often ask youngsters “what do you want to be when you grow up?”. The
I am not a courageous person. I will go out of my way to avoid conflict. I will accept responsibility, even for things I haven’t done, to avert tension and unpleasant situations. Although I have been rebellious in many ways, I prefer my rebellions to be private. I don’t often
“Writing comes from reading, and reading is the finest teacher of how to write” once said Annie Proulx, author of the Pulitzer Prize winning novel The Shipping News. As writers and wannabe writers and anyone who has ever contemplated putting pen to paper or tapping frantically on their keyboard knows,