I have been in a writing rut – in that I have done nothing new for ages. Life circumstances have been against me.
It’s time to take a stand against all that. I should set myself a challenge again and give myself the proverbial kick up the arse.
So I am considering going against all the odds and partaking in NaNoWriMo this year. I have completed it once but failed the following year due to some serious illness in the family.
These days, all the demands on me mean I don’t get any time to sit down and write – event doing this today is a very rare occurrence. I have been reduced to reblogging old content.
Well, those demands are going to have to take a back seat for a while. They will need to for my own sanities sake.
My plan is not to try and create novel, novella or even a part of one as I did last time. This time I want to use the push to create 10 drafts of short stories. Each around 5000 words long. I will then use these to enter some competitions with – maybe eventually publish them as a collection as well.
Well, that’s the plan. Let’s see how it goes. Lately, my plans don’t see the light of day – this is a last-ditch attempt. I need some success.
The new can’t replace the should have been The should have been haunts us forever Though the new will be a healer And receive all our love just the same. It’s pointless being angry at fate But that doesn’t stop the burn The frisson on top of everyday stress For the should have been we always yearn. The new will have it’s own should have been. So maybe we will understand. And make a happier will be. At least that is the plan.
You people don’t understand.
It’s in our genes.
Jobs are created
By the sport we choose.
By the blood we shed.
Surely that’s enough.
The same can’t be said
And your cock fights.
The man in the tree The plank The turned leg The joint The dust and the shavings. The tree in the man The setting down of deep roots The reaching for the skies The drinking deep of the earth The steadfastness and the wielding.
Shining argent in sunlight or silver sheen in the rain
Letter, rings, lions.
Phoenix or tiny names
Even flying angels and leaping fluid cats.
Bright, alluring but for many
The last thing they will see.
Motes of dust
So we have been described
Floating in the vastness of time and space
Dust motes made of dust from ancient dead stars.
Amongst all we see,
the starfields of diamond dust,
the ancient piercing light,
the glowing, magical, wispy nebulae,
the rainbow rings of Saturn,
the storms of Jupiter,
the blinding light of supernova,
the singular dark of black hole,
world after world
galaxy after galaxy.
Nowhere have we found
Anything that compares
to the complexity, the wonder, the intricacy,
the thoughts of you and I
Birds do it. Bees do it Even the goddamn fleas do it It’s in the genes to survive It’s not enough. Not for us We have more, in our double helix Than the ability to thrive Make it our duty Transcend circumstance!