Craving dirt and grime

Do you ever get the feeling you don’t belong in 2018? I am sitting here, a steaming cup of tea beside me as I ponder the delightful harshness of living in a chilly 18th century town house, reading Edgar Allan-Poe by candlelight. Sure, the image is romantic but of course, stilted. In truth, I’d rather be in my warm little cottage with the heating on full, tucked in my dressing gown. It doesn’t stop those images flooding my mind though…

The writer inside me craves the dirt and grime and utter ruthlessness of those times, but here I am, writing a blog entry on a laptop, wirelessly connected to the internet. It is my first blog and I am snowed in by Storm Emma.

Having written for two days and spent another day doing far more grown-up work for my job as a teacher, I’ve found myself wandering around my website in confusion. Ultimately, my dream is to write. I know I can do it. Hell, I’m doing it right now. This is the conundrum though. I use Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, Youtube… but I have a limited amount of hours per week to write and that leaves me with few hours to do all of that. Sure, it’s easy and it’s part of being a writer in these times and part of me enjoys it, but each time I gain followers I can feel the rush of endorphins and each time I loose followers, I can feel myself swaying with dizzy frustration. It’s that reason alone, that I thought I would start a blog. Perhaps nobody will read it and perhaps some will try and then disregard it after reading a few lines (the fear of every writer) but here, I will try my best to write the truth. At least then, the pressure is off.

I will try my best to write what comes into my mind and I will try to tell it as best as I can, like any writer does. Perhaps, then, you might get to know me a little, like one would have done in a time where you could only see me by candlelight: in lightness and shadow at the same time.


Photo is of my current writing space.

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