Stephen King, Tea and Creme Eggs.

My day off is a Tuesday, so that’s the day I am hoping will definitely be a blogging day.  Naturally “day off” is something of a misnomer.  I am lucky enough to have a day to catch up on all the mum stuff that doesn’t get done on the other days.  I usually try to take a walk into Hilly Town, do a little knitting, make eye contact with my daughters’ teachers so that they know I am very much around.  Sometimes I have a school governors meeting, occasionally (like this morning) I have to go into work to do something vital that woke me up at 3 am when I remembered that I hadn’t done it.  Maybe there will be a dentist appointment to get one or both of the girls to, maybe I will need to go to the dentist myself  etc. etc. etc.  Its the bread and butter of family life I suppose and I wouldn’t change it for the world.

My husband bought me an Amazon voucher for Valentines Day – after more than a decade of marriage he knows me well – and after some research I invested in three books about writing.  Personally I know that when I try to write anything longer than a blog post I cannot just sit down and let the words flow, what seems to happen is that the words run out of steam, so I thought maybe some guidance from the experts was in order.

This book by Stephen King is considered a classic, and rightly so.  I tried to read his books when I was younger but was so freaked out by them that I had to stop.  I have not tried to read one of them since and blame the cover of “It” for a lifetime’s wariness of clowns.  This book is part memoir and part instruction manual and is written in precisely the clear and friendly tone that I need at this point.  He is a wonderful writer, I love how he makes his point about being a popular novelist writing about writing, “Colonel Saunders sold a hell of a lot of fried chicken, but I’m not sure anyone wants to know how he made it.”  Well I certainly want to know the ingredients of a good book so this one is a winner for me.  In the first half of the book (the part I have read) he writes a memoir of various experiences which contributed to the writer he became, from the absurd to the tragic.  In the second part of the book he makes nuts and bolts suggestions about writing.  It’s a great read, I thoroughly recommend it to anybody interested in writing and it deserves its status.

As for the cup of tea and the Creme Egg?  Seriously, who needs to justify a cup of tea and a Creme Egg?  I don’t even feel the need to justify the second Creme Egg.  Creme Eggs rock my world.

Stephen King, Tea and Creme Eggs.

Why am I here?

Quite a philosophical question to kick off a blog.

In fact the answer is fairly pragmatic, I used to have a blog and I loved my blog, it was a lovely blog.  It was full of the joys of craft and children and living in the countryside and it was all true.  I didn’t tell a single lie.  Somehow though I fell out of love with that blog.  I went back to work and I didn’t have as much time create but I felt a lot of the people who kindly read the blog went there largely for that.  My children have got a little older and I don’t feel as comfortable blogging about them and especially publishing photos of the older one without her permission, and as she gets older and more conscious of her (beautiful in my opinion) appearance it seemed reasonable to me that her need for privacy outweighs my need for knitwear models.

I am different now that I work, I don’t have time to take lovely photos and edit them and write about them.  I can’t visit other blogs as often as I would like to and give them the much needed oxygen of comments.  My energies are split in three main directions, in order of priority; my family, my work and learning to be me again. I was a cynical and difficult teenager, my 20s were spent partying hard, my 30s have been consumed by motherhood – really, everything about them was motherhood.  And this year I turn 40.  I am frightened of that.  I haven’t done any of the things I was supposed to have done by now.  I wonder how many women feel the same?  Too many of us I think.

So there we are, that’s why I am here. Some sort of pre-midlife crisis complete with a compelling need to inflict my writing on the internet.  Perhaps you will join me, perhaps I won’t appeal any more but this is me now, too old to be cynical, too young to be wise but still with those opinions and something to say.  I’m going to say it here.

Why am I here?