Having edited a rather (what should I say?) vexatious piece of writing, not so long ago, I found myself metaphorically pacing the floor. (Not literally: Pacing the floor is anything but restful, but I stood up and sort of strode, almost….which means I was feeling vexed.)

I really did not want to do any more of that particular piece, because the same questions came up over and over again. Just little things, like passive voice, intrusive narrator, too many words obscuring meaning, and lack of ….pace, perhaps. I caught myself thinking about facilitating writing courses. Just fleetingly, I decided that would be good. And let that idea go, because I always dismiss my new ideas.

So, when a friend recently warned me against thinking too hard, because I always argue myself out of my good ideas I was struck both by the uncanny accuracy of her warning, and by the permission, nay, encouragement she was giving me to be more creative, spontaneous and to try something new. For God’s sake, girl, woman! Try something new and see where it takes you. How old do you have to be, before you live your life as you choose?

Then, entirely unconnected, I sat up in bed late at night and started scribbling notes like a maniac, which gave me an outline for a writers’ course; and before I had lost this enthusiasm, I phoned and sorted out dates, booked a room and paid the deposit, dealing with all the practical details that would commit me, before my usual arguments came back to bully me into doing nothing. It happened easily, and the details were no problem. So, I take that as a good sign.

Course notes – progressing well. Perfectionism….harnessed creatively, I hope. Excitement …brewing nicely.



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