I have been scribbling away, and am fairly happy about it. I did a difficult thing, too -- I asked the BF for a few hours of time on my own to write on the weekend. This was hard for me as we do not get much time alone, but neither do I get enough time for it, so I faced one of those horrible me-vs-him-vs-us-vs-it and felt crap about everything, until at last I was brave enough to say "I need this". And guess what. He understood, and now there is balance.
God I hope my daughters don't have these horrible self-esteem issues.
Nobody sees us,
Stops us, betrays us;
The small grains make room.
I don't really like talking about writing. I suppose that's why I have this blog -- well, one of the reasons -- because I would never presume to go on and on about my writing life even to another writer. It's like talking about "this great dream" you had.... It unfortunately means very little to anyone else. But I need an outlet, so here I am, saying things I would never say out loud unless in a very safe environment.
Diet on water,
On crumbs of shadow,
Little or nothing.
And I don't keep a very firm boundary here, although that's what "they" tell you to do: blog about one thing, find your niche, etc.... Well if you've read this over any length of time you will find the writing part of me is all mixed in with everything else, and the point of the blog is to "show all" (or, at least all I can) about my own small writing life.... Which, when I think about it, is so very mushroomy: so much happening underground, in private, out of eyesight; very slowly pushing out of soil rich with last year's wet leaves.
NB Quotes are from Sylvia Plath's poem Mushrooms, which is in, I think, "The Colossus".