Sunday, 13 March 2011
It feels like these months have whizzed by. Too much work, not enough writing time, too much waiting for things to happen, not enough writing time, too many emotional family moments, not enough writing time, too much of this, that, and the other. And so it goes on. Life, you may say. Just a few more weeks at the university to go but have started a ten week stint at a school, and about to start a four week stint with elders of the city. You know, that's the politically correct term but to me elders are trees, but there you go. Meanwhile, so as not to appear totally inadequate and paralysed by the stuff of life, I have been writing short stories, selling a few, rewriting rejected ones and sending them back out. Hey, I like these stories and refuse to just bin them and plodding on is a major part of my character. Anyone important out there, just remember that. Which brings me to the vague worry that there isn't anyone out there, not at all. You could prove me wrong, of course. And yet why worry? There's a whole world of worry out there all crammed into one country, and a minute's silence at a rugby match just shows you. House of card, paper, bamboo, home of the Haiku, I salute you. Worry too.