No words.
My head was always so ful of ideas- and isn’t now.
There are too many people around for me to live in my imaginary world. That is a certain factor towards my lack of words on paper.
The loss of ideas and the lack of fictional scenes in my head is really upsetting.
I’ve tried but I am struggling to become a character, so if I’m living outside of the characters looking down on them I can’t write from their heart. Sometimes I’m seeing them as if it’s like hearing about them from a third party, then I can’t even get into their heads. A bit like listening to someone on the train telling a story to their friend about people you don’t know!
If I get to that point then any writing I do is flat. It’s boring. I don’t want to read it. If I don’t want to read it then no-one else will.
I’ve had imaginary people lodging in my head since I could talk- or even before? I have a memory of being in my cot and little people dressed in green peering over the sides and talking to me. As an only child I was never alone when my imaginary? friends joined in my adventures. All this was a regular thing probably right up in until I discovered I could escape into imaginary worlds by reading. This developed my love affair with books and reading.
When I was on my own in the house, writing, I wasn’t on my own. I was each of the characters in the book. I felt every emotion. I saw what they saw. I thought what they thought.
Circumstances have erased the ability to do all of those things.
When I’m alone for an hour driving I can relax and start to plot in my head. But it dissolves once I get home.
Responsibility? Listening to other people’s problems? Being crowded? My mental state? My view of how others see me? 🤷♀️maybe my lack of personal space and loss of some of my identity along with regular flares of Fibromyalgia has knocked my confidence and made me look on the negative side whilst searching for something to blame? 🤷♀️
I don’t know.
I lost a good friend this month. We’d never met but had regular chats and I was due to meet her in Lisbon in a few weeks. My last words to her were ‘sending love and hugs. I will give you a real hug when we meet up.’ It should have been her birthday today. Instead of sending her birthday wishes I shall take a ride to Fairy Glen and scatter some petals in the woods in her memory.
She was a brilliant writer, a wonderful support and all round lovely person. She will be missed by so many.
It has made me think a lot more about my situation… and my future writing. I have started channelling some of her advice on to a time table of 15 minutes a day. Taking responsibility for the life of my novels after they’re finished seems to be the way to go.
Now all I have to do is find my muse and stir up the imagination.







Thank you Sharon.

