On May 1st I started a hundred day challenge to write a hundred posts each of exactly a hundred words. I completed it, but by then it had become a habit!
Writing’s slipping today, more reading, not enough putting words on the paper, more soaking words up from the paper. It’s difficult not to feel disappointed in myself, difficult to believe my resolution to do better tomorrow… but I must!
This is sliding back two years ago when the pace slowed, the focus, shimmied, the progress almost halted. I got over that, and heading back up the hill where the view will be better – or maybe down to the lush valley where ‘the living is easy/the writing is easy.’
Inspiration is an elusive thing, and if it’s hiding, hunt it out.
I can’t remember not knowing Grantchester and its meadows. A place to bike to, a place to walk, a place to picnic, the River Granta, green as a dream ready for swimming. Rupert Brooke captured it perfectly, the stream mysterious gliding beneath a tunnel of green gloom – I see it, feel it, smell its riverness now.
Then ‘Grantchester’ on TV, from James Runcie’s books, was, at first, a gentle but interesting series, dealing with interesting issues, engaging plots, good acting. Now series six… well, I shall continue watching, but episode 1 disappointed. Views of my Granta are worth it though.
I was about seven when I first went to Sunday School with my younger sister; a big girl from across the road took us at first to Roseford Road Hall in Cambridge. I think we went so our parents, especially mum, could have a precious couple of hours away from us.
We quite enjoyed it. We were in the big hall, sang some hymns, some choruses with actions, ‘Do you want a pilot, signal then to Jesus’ and we all waved our arms like mad, and then Bible stories. We separated into small classes and wrote stories and drew pictures.
Sitting in a friends’ garden, stone walls and lush greens keeping the sunny day cooler, was relaxing but also… stimulating! I felt enlivened, energised even sitting in the garden chair, shading my eyes against the brightness, chatting about this and that. The sun was hot, but this urban oasis was pleasant and very lovely.
I read there are different symptoms of depression; I’m not depressed, I know I’m not, I’m content, happy, slightly bored – no, very bored, lethargic, I nod off during the day…
Something isn’t quite right – but all was very well yesterday, sitting in my friends’ garden.
This daily challenge has gone awry, I’m not keeping up… but does it matter? I’m keeping up enough to be writing almost every day.
It’s not so much a challenge, more a way of practicing writing, a flexible discipline to watch my words, to write differently. Too often verbose in speech and writing, will this help make me more frugal but more telling?
It’s challenging me to not be repetitive, to think differently, to write differently from the habitual way I now write. Change my voice! A different tone, a different pitch, varied speed and flavour, maybe a different writer.