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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic

a goal to make writing part of my life.

Submitted: February 26, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: February 26, 2018





Here I am sitting and my mind’s like a kitten

Playing with a ball of string

I’ve barely written three quarters of a smidgen

That’s near enough not a damn thing.

If only I could settle then I might show my mettle

And write a little something with heart.

But I get a shameful feeling like I’ve been caught at stealing

And I have to put my pen down quick smart.


I want to be a writer but my mind gets in the way. The shameful idea of revealing myself means I never share or I share anodyne crap without real heart.

I want to be a writer but life gets in the way. I dream of a small stone hut by a rocky beach.  It has a desk that looks out over the ocean.  An open fire in one corner.  It is cosy.  I put a log on the fire, I sip from my coffee, I pick up my pen.  

I wake up and I have two small children, a mortgage, and a 50 hour work week.  If I could only find an hour so I will make writing part of my life. If only I could have day without interruption.

Life gets in the way of writing so I will make writing part of life. 

Here is how:

One piece on Booksie per week, every week. No excuses. 

A new scene every week.  All scenes unrelated and chosen by random by one of those generator things on the interweb.  No gotcha endings or clever twists.  No written backstory (although I will create one). The scene must stand on its own two feet.

Minimum of 1000 words.  If I don’t have a limit I will put up one perfectly crafted 8 word sentence.

Piece must go up by 11pm on Tuesday night.  Whatever shape it is in, it goes up.

I will write for no other reason than to be a writer.  Don’t write for the press or the critics or your Mum who never praised or your Dad who passed you by.  Write for the joy of creating. 

When I’m tired I will post it. When I am grumpy I will post it.  Hungover and crumpled with shame. Post it, post it, post it. 

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