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November 21, 2010
Writing about web page http://escapetoinfinity.tumblr.com/
I can't remember where I read these words, but today, I came across 'polished mirror'. The first thing that popped into my head was:
My writing is like a polished mirror. If there's no foundation, there is nothing to polish. There has to be a rough sketch, a starting point. If I don't sit down to write, then I will not have anything to polish later through editing and redrafting.
I've known that you have to write something, no matter how bad it seems. If there's nothing there, there's nothing to improve. The 'blank screen', the writer's nightmare. In the hardest of times, a few lines written are better than no lines at all. Those few lines can act as prompts at the next writing session, and so the cycle will progress until you're able to write with greater fluidity.
I just never thought of it as a polished mirror before. I like that image. I want to remember it so that the next time I hit a block, I hope the phrase will help me, spur me on, deliver me from the dark, fuzzy mirk of writer's block. I want the clarity of that polished mirror.
Is your writing like a polished mirror? How do you deal with the fuzzy mirror?
November 15, 2010
October 22, 2010
Well, this blogging game is not the easiest, is it? I have no idea how to delete the areas left over from deleted images. One day, my page will look like I want it to look, but until then, please bear with me as I learn!
I'm into the third week of term and already things are tough. I missed a lecture on Wednesday, but I had a good reason. My Dad passed away in May after a couple of months in hospital, and we scattered his ashes on Wednesday 20th October 2010. The day proved to be not the torture I expected, but a beautiful day to let him go and find peace.
The boatman told us the River Severn goes on to become part of the Bristol Channel, then out into the Atlantic Ocean. Eventually, this water joins the Indian Ocean and goes on to become one with other oceans of the world - something to do with the Gulf Stream. So it felt like Dad was going to become one with the air as his ashes were scattered, one with the water as they entered the water, and once in the world's oceans maybe he will become part of the land again. Where on Earth will there be a place where he is not? And as long as we remember him, he will always be a part of us, too.
After a Memorial Service on Sunday, I hope I'll be able to start focussing on my writing again. It's been a tough to be a creative writer when the last thing I've felt was creative. Then I remember that even in the toughest times in hospital, Dad wrote his poetry whenever the inspiration hit him, and on whatever paper he could see if he couldn't reach his notebooks. How could it be harder for me than it must have been for Dad? If that doesn't inspire me to carry on, I don't know what will.
So, flaws and all, here goes...