Honey and Exercise Bikes.

Friday, 3rd of July 2020

‘Is it time?’ Said the timid mouse, hiding in the reeds.

‘Is it time to open the curtains? Is it time to vacuum the floors and change the sheets,

Tidy the surfaces, open the windows and let in some fresh air?

Is it time to water the plants, to acknowledge something else exists besides ourselves?’

‘Almost.’ Said the little bird watching from the elder.

‘Almost. Now shush, and listen.’

~

Over the past few days I’ve had a lot of things I’ve wanted to write about, and this is where I start?

~

I’ve been letting go of things. Firstly, as you may have figured out, I’ve let go of being published again. I’ve let go of the idea of having that brand of a respected publisher behind me, backing me, validating me, being my name for me.

I’ve taken away the deadline of having a completed manuscript by December and submitting it to the Bath Novel Awards. I mean, I still might submit it, when I finish it. But, I’m not going to go through the whole thing of letting myself down if I don’t meet my own goals and deadlines.

But I want to talk about what happened when I made this decision. I suddenly knew exactly how I wanted this book to be, and seeing the finished product so clearly is inspiring me to get back to work on it. I feel like I can do what I want with it now, and I’m excited about it. It’s not catering to what I think will get me published, it’s not “This is what people will like” it’s now, quite selfishly “This is what I want. This is what I want to explore. This is how I want to tell this story.”

Do you know whet else this has led to? It’s so stupid. I suddenly realised that I can buy the honey that I want, not the one that my sister prefers. She moved out almost a year ago and this has just occurred to me. Also, I can let the seat down on the exercise bike so that it’s more comfortable for me, not that weird in between setting we agreed to that accommodated both of u. She doesn’t live here anymore. (Technically it’s a cross trainer, but I keep calling it an exercise bike, no idea why.)

So, does this mean I should start thinking about what the plan is for when I do finish the novel, self-publish? I don’t know. Self-publishing is truly letting go of the the need to be recognised as someone talented and valid by a superior body, and knowing, in yourself, that you’re talented enough and worthy enough. It’s believing in yourself. I don’t think I’m there yet. I want to believe in myself, in my writing. The voice in my head that telling me I’m not good enough isn’t mine, well, it is, but it isn’t.

There’s this part of me that knows who I am, knows my talents and knows what I can do with them, explore with them, loves them in fact.

The part that tells me to stay small, stay hidden, don’t be too different, it’s not me, so it can shut up, any time it would like. Please?

I have so many ideas, but do I have follow through? I have determination, and I’m stubborn, does that count?

Do you know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna take my time, do what I want to do, be more myself and… work on the fear that if I don’t hurry up and make something of myself that I’m going to die penniless and alone, unimportant to everyone. Seriously though, I had to get a new laptop last week because it worked out as cheaper and easier to buy a new one on credit then get my old one repaired. I am financially fucked, with a voice in my head saying, ‘What about the future? What about five years from now, ten years from now, retirement? What about pensions?’ Like I know anything about pensions! All the weed in the world isn’t going to make that one go away.

So, right. Worrying never helped anyone. So I hear. I could always win the lottery. It might help if I played the lottery. I can always start playing the lottery.

We’ll aim for opening the curtains tomorrow.