Go Litel Bok….


Well, its been well over a month since I wrote a thing!

Not a syllable. Nunca. De Nada.

 

After a madly prolific period in which I hardly slept and wrote till dawn mostdays I then fell into a kind of frozen limbo – not a good place to be when your anxietycan often scourge at your inner core as much as your hidden mind.

Something was triggered, and so began the endless, self imposed isolation; the enthusiastically made yet inevitably cancelled appointments; the languid routine of a ”writer’s day” with bouts of research and thinking interspersed with coffees, punctuated with lack lustre snacks yet not a word of print adorned the empty page.

On April the 10th I launched this.

The Cuckoo in Their Nest

Written 15 years ago, when I was living in a similar remote abode, and writing and home replaced nights out and social whirls – I could never decide! – and it was from a rather dark but rawly truthful place.  Not that much of my writing is not.

Coveted for years, I have always been reluctant to release my etchings on an unsuspecting, and perhaps unconcerned world. It always felt so personal and so private, like exposing my Soul to an undeserving – worse, possibly a non understanding and judgemental – audience!

Well, now it has finally been done.

Entrails and all.

 

The initial euphoria as I hovered above the self publishing key and the ensuing plethora of congratulations and sharp intakes of breath, encouraging reviews – even some tears – from close friends and family soon became tinged with a slight regret. Followed hot on its heels by overwhelming Anxiety.

I was, am, suddenly that 8 year old me again.

Afraid, insecure, grabbing at any attention freely given, lonely, isolated, even at such an early age reading and writing became my salve. Long periods of time would be spent alone in my room. Long silences. Who knew then that this was the beginning of the Anxiety that would then plague my entire Life. No labels back then.

girl in white and blue dress reading books while sitting on lawn

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The chatty, lively former me still wore her expected Mask. Still attempted to meet Their Expectations. Yet more and more she cared less and less. And yet cared too much.

The last few weeks have been ones of deep reflection with many uncalled flashbacks.

The book has clearly shifted the Past and unsettled its dormancy. Clouds of memory whisked up and uneasily resettling around me in the Present.

Yet it has been necessary at this point to finally release who I really was.

Who I really am.

I await some recriminations and maybe some Hurt. I carry Hurt within me still but it is not the work of a Victim. Just the truth of a child who clearly still dwells within me.

 

So, in the words of Chaucer –

“Go litel bok, go, litel myn tragedye,”

― Geoffrey ChaucerTroilus and Criseyde

 

and do what you will.

willow that grow along the river

Photo by Kaboompics .com on Pexels.com

 

 

 

 

 

My Life Encapsulated (circa the noughties!) 2214:You discover my dusty old hard drive in an antique shop – Buyer Beware!


Ebb & Flow of Time

Ebb & Flow of Time

Dear Stranger/purveyor and purchaser of useless artefacts

Please sort the wheat from the chaff but do not neglect to salvage any hidden jewel you may haplessly discover in Aladdin’s outdated cave! While I won’t explore your reasons in what is surely now an even more multi- techno infested era for requiring the hard drives of the hard lives of the old days – I nonetheless urge you to enjoy your treasure….

Amongst the plethora of incessant ramblings,half abandoned novels, layers of dark poetry and frissons of humourous riddles, I do hope you take time to delve deeper still – wherein you may discover …A Life.

A life truly lived.

Raucous parties with friends and salacious siblings

Joyful events of half forgotten days that lie dormant in my memory just as they have in this dusty domain all these years

Gleaming freshfaced cherubs whose images change month by month, year by year recorded for posterity when memory would oft suffice better , the angst of adolescence cringingly portrayed and mercilessly captured – until the groomed and final product – adults! –  emerge – or perhaps the latter is on my updated hard drive.

I hope you can allocate some time to this life half remembered – I rarely did.

And now I know I sit in deep regret of that.

But as I write on this date in 2014 and tuck this pointless missive into the box with the now defunct hard drive – its shiny new, all singing, all dancing counterpart placed mockingly in its old residence – I hope you will tread softly.

For you tread back through the remnants of my Past – the deep dark undergrowth of abandoned thoughts,people,lives and places that in their moment were real, alive, tangible to me…. And should you choose to delete, edit, repair please spare the reaper to some extent.

Had I but known the tools myself to Photoshop, edit and adapt a life at the correct given points perhaps the heartaches and hurt could have been avoided. Yet the healing and lessons learned along that pathway truly enhanced who I  – and they- became.

Our lives are truly in your hands…

Oh and although I will be long deleted from this life I carved out 200 years from now do seek me out in some isolated burial ground and drop by – perhaps I can even be the historical research for your own new creative pennings –  the incomparable Past of my Now will certainly conflict with the hard drive of your present!

If only we had the foresight to apply hindsight to the present….