Curve? Discover Prompts

Hello dear readers,

How do I know I’m a writer? Take just now, outside my front door there is a growing group of women sitting in chairs. They can do this because it’s a cul-de-sac; no ‘through’ traffic. They are keeping 2 metres apart.

We’ve had very dry weather, and I’ve been watering the plants much more often than usual as I noticed that the tulips grow better with water. I’ve lots of tulips out the front under the birch.

One of the group invited me to join. Possibly she’s an introvert as she is the latest edition (a Freudian slip perhaps), I’m turning her into a book. For any non-native speakers, I meant ‘addition’. I have just written a short story for my MA in which the protagonist is subsumed by a book, so the slip is perhaps understandable, like when you read old English or German and forget how to write in standard English.

I like watching the growing group; still, while I may enjoy talking to her, as I suspect her conversational style will be one that I find more stimulating, I declined. My polite excuse, ‘I’m a writer’.

On reflection it’s more complicated than that. Yes, I am a writer and I do process things slowly and better in writing, and through reflection I gain deeper understanding of things. I’ve learnt this about myself through a gradual process of hard work, determination and rejection. However, what I really wanted to say is really only something I’d say to a close friend who knows me well and who has built up a modicum of trust with me. You, dear reader, are like a friend. How do I know this? Well, let’s just say that’s every writer knows this. It’s what he hopes for (he was in standard use when I was a child and meant male or female so I’m deferring to it now for ease).

Still, what I really wanted to say was this; I am an introvert, I prefer a deeper, more thought out conversation. I don’t really want to know what you think of Covid or what you’re having for dinner, or what annoys you. I’ll be weary from sitting, and yawning in a moment, if I sit down. I’d rather go and write a blog, respond to a blog, or finish a short story I’m working on.

I also wanted to say, ‘do you see any men here?’ (I should add that since the age of ten I’ve not believed in binaries, which makes me sure there are some feminine men that would love to join in.)

Perhaps the men will join in a month or two, and maybe then I’ll succumb. You see, I’ve always felt like so much more of a man than a woman. Of course, when I was growing up this wasn’t acceptable.

My father knew it, and graciously christened me tomboy one. Perhaps he knew he was destined for 7 children, although non of the others achieved this accolade.