Getting Geared up for NaNoWriMo #octoprep


brown book page

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So here I am, long aware that stencilled in my diary amidst work commitments and social promises is the NaNoWriMo start date of November 1st 2018

Earlier, flicking lazily through Instagram, I realise there is now a newly added diary entry of Octoberprep! Mmmm, methinks this did not exist and is also a rather naughty pre addition to what is supposed to be a full 30 days of writing to reach a set amount of words by the end of November. To the unintiated National Novel Writing Month in November gives one a kick up the rear end to get our acts in gear and get writing and finishing that novel. While I want to lament that its unfair to prep a novel you should write in only 30 days…I have to confess my copious notes and character visualisations, my endless plotting and structuring, my playing with various beginnings but I hasten to add, not endings – is surely of the same ilk?

Yet I began years ago I counter in my defence….ah, therein lies the rub. The long awaited novel gets dusted off but its premises and original plot rejuvenated ready for The Big Write. My aspirations then to sit languorously at a neat desk – or was it neatly at a languorous desk – to bang out, churn out, spurn out, force out, 3000 words a day may in fact materialise after all.

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The main planning of course needs to be the desperately required endless cups of coffee, and simultaneously someone with endless patience to keep providing them to my hunched. oblivious to reality figure, to fuel and oil my ceaseless thoughts, stroke or should that be stoke? my brain into further creativity.

Publishing my short story in April with 2 more to add to the trilogy plus a small volume of poetry, entering a local competition and attending to my other blogs makes me sound prolific. Sadly untrue. Those were the culmination of thoughts etched into ink long ago and then botched together when it finally hit me I could indeed selfpublish and that my long held notes and ideas did indeed actually have a structure to slot into. A structure that had eluded me for many years, yet once I stopped thinking too hard appeared to me confident in its knowledge it would work.

The novel is a whole other Entity. It breathes of its own accord and haunts me in shadows, beset by memories and indecision, shrouded in mystery and a very opaque ending preceded by a long drawn out journey.

Lets hope it can breathe Life into itself over November.

Good luck to all else involved!

 

Note to self@2.am the following morning ….its actually called Preptober ….oops 🙂

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Social, social, personal, essential.


Realising you have not written a SINGLE syllable since May!

 

I knew I had been AWOL but not THAT long! I can give myself a litany of excuses – work to earn a crust – you know the REAL work you have to do – family – travel – ya di ya di ya….but seriously all I know I have really done is avoid the written word and in the process denied my very Soul again!

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So many avenues to pursue and so keen to build up my readers – reading tonight on how to improve that I feel I have done almost all the tips to date.  I read avidly on here and follow any that take my breath away or inspire or excite. I realise publishing sporadically is not helping my cause and passion. Oh, to write daily at a neat little desk, within a proscribed time and fulfill the need without Life intervening. But…that is just not ME! This 2am sprint with laptop propped on my duvet and legs akimbo, while relishing the total  uninterrupted silence that only the dead of night can provide – Yep that’s me!

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While I neglect one blog, I nurture or even create another! While I am obsessed with too many accounts on Insta I leave Twitter sobbing for attention. Dalliances with Pinterest suffice for short bursts and please do not even investigate the myriad of work accounts I NEED to update…Linked In, et al.  Perhaps therein lies my flaw….too many, too scattered, too disparate?

Yet all were born – even the ones still left to germinate and blossom forth – from a long held ambition, nay, a dream – to house all my pandora’s box of ideas and interests in one unit, one space, one building. If not physically and tangibly then why not within the pages of a website/blog from the realms of my chaotic mind. A vestibule of virtuality for each, a window to glance in and share, a compartment for other thoughts. If The Seanachai can never be my cherished coffee spot/bookshop with space for spiritual workshops, education, book signings, tarot, self help, writers and booklovers meetings and travel talks then why not host a virtual rendezvous.

There is so much more to do, to add, to combine. Not least to learn how to emulate the glossy pages and technical naunces of some amazing pages I have visited and coveted only tonight! Mostly to adorn these pages with my many and diverse interests and ideas. A place for me to go, to sojourn and loiter.

Should any of you join me regularly, so much the better.

My virtual coffee shop door will always remain welcoming and ajar….

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Heal Your Life


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A good weekend spent with a lovely friend – who gave me a timely reminder of the book

title above.  Having not read my copy for some considerable time I have now unearthed it once more and realising its truth yet again.

Suffering from severe throat and larynx problems for years I remind myself that trying to heal is a conscious decision that you WILL be heard, that your symptoms can only be allayed by refusing to stay mute, to be silenced. Yes, the chart that lists your particular ailment and offers an affirmation to overcome it and a diagnosis of the reasons your body has manifested your mind via some physical outcome is an analogy.

Yet it still rings true. And after months of being perfectly fine the last few weeks have now cancelled out my self remedies and my hoarse, unworkable, inflexible and very painful larynx issues have resurfaced.

With a vengeance.

So thank you, Louise Hay, for revisiting me with your wisdom.

I am well aware of my need to escape the last few weeks, of my need to suppress my true thoughts, of my shock at events thus rendering me speechless again, at the chaos of my tangled thoughts affecting my sense of Self and in turn my speech ability.

The tool of my trade once again tarnished.

A few months ago I asked you to visit me again after A Visit From Mother.

Little did I know a revisit would be so sharp, so vivid, so real and so shocking.

The lady I described in March had my full compassion and willingness to understand.

The lady in ICU the last few weeks had my entire attention and dismay, hurt and anger, pain and disbelief.

How and why could someone still so active and vivacious be here, inert, slipping away in her clinical bed before our very eyes?

When had her health dissapated before us without any of us realising how frail and weak she had become?

Because she is The Matriarch. She always has been. She holds it all, us all, together. What a sharp poignant reminder we have all had of that fact.

The toneless doctor, advising us, Well she IS 81… we can do no more…..

Seeing the effects of days of drugs, seeing her incoherent and out of control was surreal in itself. Always controlled, and very much presentable, who was this wild eyed woman in this bed, vulnerable and susceptible to the hands of the medical staff…or God.

And I havent talked about God in a very, very long while indeed.

So it hits me, all of us, as it did last year when she lost her partner, did this year for me when this lone version of her visited me in March, and does now with a full, staggering impact that just will not subside. We cannot lose her yet.

Did she hear us? Did she know?

Refusing to sleep again, so afraid of sinking back into the deep oblivion of her recent coma state that lost her weeks of Life, and purged her memory. Sitting beside her day after long day until she awoke, a different woman who ‘fell asleep’, talking to her, reassuring her. Staying beside the ward in a kindly proffered room and ladelling full respect onto the ICU staff who fought tirelessly to save her.

Save her they did. Yet more than that.

This strong, sassy, elegant woman saved herself. Her strength of Spirit shone through. After her ‘condemning’ the doctor in question avoided our eyes, our questions as this amazing woman astounded all by pulling slowly but very surely through. Laughter at her demands, her jokes, her admissions of hating lying so still and resting despite her trauma – the staff grew to love her on the ward and were sad to see her go when, finally and thankfully, she was deemed well enough to leave ICU five weeks on and join the respiratory or heart ward.

And now, in the blink of an eye she is home! I have lost most of the end of the summer and all of September into mid October. Yet she is home. Not listening to a word of our advice, finding it impossible to rest or sit still, but deeply aware that she must. All this exactly one year on from losing her dear partner. It would have been so easy to have given up, given in, to have turned away from a life now lonely, days now long, hopes and plans now dashed.

Her family. She tells me her children, our children – her grandchildren and her great grandchildren have begged her to stay. In their hearts, minds, souls. So much life, love and laughter left in her yet. So many more memories to make.

Welcome home strong, sassy, indomitable Mother.

 

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What is this thing ‘we writers’ do?


The strangest week.

A mixture of highs and lows and then complete highs on a day I was inevitably sinking!

Just when you think you will not, cannot, shake yourself free of your own encumbering thoughts – along comes a lifeline. Thrown randomly from out of nowhere… not that I need to desperately cling…I was fairly happy drowning at that point – a slow, silent, descent into Nothingness.

And here it is: My reason for recovery – partial at least.

 

The Written Word.

 

Anxiety vs Adventures anew


Its absolutely teeming down outside

Not a word I have heard in years! The wind is literally howling up from the harbour far down below where my cottage stands, aloof on the hillside. Eeerily I think of Irish banshees, calling, mourning, grieving for their lost.

There are clouds scudding across the sky and it feels so angry. Or is that just me?

Hence I stay home, 3 days now, cocooned in my bubble and next to my open fire, piling on more wood with each passing hour.

Building word upon word, with each new thought.

Its been a tough two weeks and I have no idea why – what triggered or sustained it to be so. Yet I do know I got through it. Again.

And here I appear to be – out the other side.

Yet still it rains.

Like a persistent drone in my ear, an unending melancholy song.

 

Time to stream something else. I need fun.

 

 

 

Falling off the edge of the sea…


An illogical premise?  A literal impossibility?

Yet that is how I feel.

A wide unending expanse of water beckons me, entices me. I go. I dance on the waves like one of them. I inevitably fall.

 

I just smashed a new plate. Well, not a new one exactly – but had only just unwrapped a few finds from an antique fair a few months back. How is it anything valuable, or unique, or promising I touch this year seems to disintegrate rapidly? Just an Italian blue and white, handmade, pottery plate. Yet still. Destruction of its unassuming and undeserving stencilled spectrum of blues and carefully placed white swirls that someone lovingly crafted – torn apart by ME in one, obliterating moment.

It seems all my over exerted optimism in my teens, twenties and 30s has somehow dissapated along with the disappointments of my 40s! A diluted pessimism that cannot even be bothered to raise its weary head either at times

 

I lit a fire tonight for the first time in months. There was a strange chill in the air despite the warm day and I needed comfort of a shape. The rise and fall of the flames is reassuring…somnambulistic in its drawing in of both the mind and your fascination.

I love that a dying ember can suddenly link to a stronger wood and flare up again unexpectedly, inexplicably. I love that it flares into life, burns then gradually dies. I love that with it and my candles lit and the arched windows wide open to tonight’s crazy storm here on the island it exonerates my pain, and rejuvenates my Soul. After a very tough few weeks it has almost exorcised some ghosts, and refuelled me in my beliefs.

 

” What if I fall?

Ah…but what if you fly?”