As part of my on-going writing practice, I’ve decided to enter as many competitions as I can. I’m currently working one being run on another blog (www.blogaboutwritng.wordpress.com) – a mini saga with a hundred word limit, inspired by a beautiful photograph of two young girls enjoying themselves in the Autumn sunshine. (Link to photo: fragglehunter aka Sleepy G)
My motto has always been, ‘why write just one sentence, when there are so many words to choose from,’ so this has been self-imposed torture! Nonetheless, I’ve edited brutally, cutting entire paragraphs to tell my tale within that count. And having masochistically enjoyed the discipline, I’m satisfied with the result – not least because it only took me half a morning to compose. I’ll stop ‘fettling’ now, leaving it to rest until tomorrow’s deadline, while I search for other contests to spark my imagination.
Other people’s blogs are so professional that I’d like to buff mine up – to attract more subscribers; increase traffic and feel that I am truly a member of this extensive on-line writing community. To this end, I’ve managed to borrow a couple of instruction manuals from the library. I’m also searching for one that would de-mystify ‘Twitter’ for me – at the moment things work more by accident than design, which is unsatisfying. Apparently this social medium took off just at the Island’s purchasing budgets were slashed, so it looks as though I may have to ‘buy the book’, as long as I can source one that doesn’t require a degree in computer technology to decode it.
From time to time I question why I’m trying. Surely – at my time of life – I have sufficient personal and professional experience to earn me the luxury of spending my free time quietly crocheting? And I have whiled away many happy hours, doing just that. Creating soft furnishings, toys or clothing, or simply scrumbling randomly, knowing that one day I’ll turn my efforts into something, I’m not sure what. Ironically, though, this is the ideal environment for the cogs to start whirring and, before I know it, scenes arise from nowhere and start playing themselves out in my head. Try as I might, I just can’t seem to stop looking at life from an author’s point of view.
This probably explains my addiction to reality television. Not just the obvious ratings-pullers like BB, Strictly This or Get Me That. I flick through the programme guides, on the alert for less mainstream offerings – ‘real’ American housewives climbing the ‘social ladder’; supercilious models being photographed in strange locations, wearing even stranger ‘fashion’, minor ‘celebrities’ 71 degrees out of their comfort zones.
I freely admit to a voyeuristic fascination at how ‘players’ in these artificially engineered microcosms ‘act’. It’s the ultimate in people watching – and, since they’ve put themselves up for such intense scrutiny, it’s ok to judge and criticize and be amazed by the things that people do even – or maybe because – a video camera is fixed on them. All seeking fifteen microseconds of fame, I guess.
Me too, in my own way. I can’t sing, dance or ice-skate, so I won’t be auditioning for any of those shows. And you won’t find me volunteering to be incarcerated in a constructed environment with a gaggle of complete strangers. I’d rather be here, with The Artist, in our island paradise, where I can stake my claim to acclaim through my blogs.
So, if you like the way I write and haven’t already done so, click the ‘Subscribe’ button on the right, to receive email notification of future posts. Maybe you’d like to leave me a comment, before flipping over to ‘Tao of Scrumble’ and subscribing to that too. And please feel free to spread the word – the more people I have following me, the more I’ll feel like a ‘proper’ writer! That’s all I’ve ever really wanted to be.