How mad can it be that I’ve decided to write a post on writing, and then to sit here staring at my lap top screen wondering what it is that I’m actually going to write about! My creative mind has gone AWOL and has been replaced with a mental shopping list, with oven cleaner as number one priority followed closely by a copy of my book club’s next choice, Girl on a Train,


I like writing. I’m not very good at it, but there’s something satisfying about putting your thoughts on paper, or in this case, on a screen, and hitting the ‘Publish Now’ button is actually quite thrilling. The idea that someone, somewhere is taking the time to read whatever nonsense I have spent hours one finger typing is rather exciting, not because its worth reading but because it’s simply possible, through the wonder of technology, to do so!

Blogging mean’s that I can write about what ever takes my fancy. Inspiration comes unexpectantly at times. I started a post a while ago about my nan’s corner shop only because I saw some chintz fabric that reminded me of her bedroom curtains. A post was written about nursing after a trip to see my own fabulously wonderful practice nurse who for the last year has week in, week out looked after my poorly leg and keeps me feeling optimistic even when its been a case of one step forward, three steps back!

Mostly I write as I speak. I try to inject a little humour and rarely use, as my youngest describes it, purple prose. My writing is like me…waffling, hardly memorable, no great shakes but also sincere and with good intentions!

typewriterphoto credit : Millie Clinton

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I found out two weeks ago at a WI meeting on reflective journaling that I really can’t write to order. We were given prompts and asked to write down what ever came in our heads. I just couldn’t do it. and felt very uncomfortable and exposed. I turned into one of the petulant six-year olds in my class who sits there refusing to write, pulling faces, huffs and puffs and invariably decides that a trip to the toilet will waste some time, or in my case, a check on the urn to see if it needs topping up! All around me, people were busy writing what seemed like reams.and there was me, resorting to doodling and drawing cupcakes. My beautiful notebook, bought for the evening’s activity, now put away in a drawer, never to see the light of day again. What a waste!

When my sons were boys, we used to fly out to Switzerland to join their dad who worked there. To pass the time on the journey, I used to make up stories about a disgraced teacher called Mrs Flowers and her neighbours, Mrs Meat and Mrs Muddle. They loved those stories and even now pester me to write those stories down. Telling a story is one thing, writing it is another. How I admire people who can have a great story in their head and are able to transfer that story from head to paper. How amazing is that, and what a fabulous gift.

So, here I am still wondering how to write about writing, and discovering that I have indeed without thinking about it done just that! Waffle it may be, but I enjoyed writing my waffle and that’s all that really matters in the grand scheme of things.

Thank you for reading. xx