Do I set myself up as a good sort?

Do I be a hero, if only to myself?  Do I feminise that and become a heroine?  Does that matter, these days?  Why can I accept ‘heroine’, for instance, and not ‘poetess’?

It’s use, I suppose, choice of words.  I like ‘blonde’ for females and ‘blond’ for males, but I have noticed that it seems more common, now, in the US anyway, to use ‘blond’ for both men and women.

Many would agree to give up ‘madame’; some drop the idea of ‘lady’ unless it is an actual title, preferring ‘woman’ – I, myself, watch that use of ‘girl’ for any female person above the age of majority.

(And that has reminded me – once, I was walking along one of those streets, and there was a group of young boys coming my way – what I would call ‘junior school age’ – I’m old enough to remember when schools were categorised in such a way – junior school coming after infant school and before senior school – how simple it was in those days – no ‘year this number’ and ‘year that number’ – some mathematical genius must have brought in that system – and – I wasn’t afraid of groups of young boys, and kept on walking – they were nudging each other – and then I heard what one was saying to another – “Kiss the nanna*!”  Nudge.  “Go on, kiss the nanna!”

And I wasn’t taking much notice.

And it wasn’t until much later, when I was home again, shopping achieved, that I realised that the ‘nanna’ referred to – was me.

knew how old I was, but I had no idea that it showed.  I thought I was youthful-looking for my age!)

But that’s an aside.  Maybe.

And, in the general consideration I was going through, before being usurped by my own memory – there is transgender and homosexual and bisexual and . . . what standard of description would suit all of those?  Don’t forget these are people, not just categories, and I’m sorry if I missed anyone out.

I do care about these things – and I did very strong courses (that’s one way to describe them) on feminism, as it was then – and then there was discussion on whether we should be talking about gender studies instead – of course, of course.

This wasn’t what I was going to write about, but this fell upon the page, and so – I have been so tired lately – I may as well leave it there, I think – and then there will be something rather than nothing.  Couch it round with general apologies – I’m feeling amiss in my mind – who knows who or what I may have forgotten?

What I was going to write was: do I only write the triumphs here?

 

*’nanna’ – a common term, where I live, for a grandmother.

How much does blogging help you with your writing, or help towards your writing career?

A prestigious writers’ association that uses venues for its endeavours that are, at most, a train-journey away from where I live, offers workshops on how to set up a blog, as well as other ‘how to’ and ‘meet the author’ events.  Blogging seems to be part of a standard structure towards becoming an established writer.

No.  I have not attended those courses.

I went to one ‘meet the author’, that event taking place in a library a taxi-ride away from my home.

It was interesting but you either scootle out of the building the minute the talk (talks in this case – there were two authors) finishes, or you are expected, in the most polite way, to buy the book(s).

They are sold at a reduced rate, and the tickets for the evening cost next to nothing, but the exercise is to promote the writers – and the whole thing is hung on ‘local’ – ‘local novelists’, ‘local poets’, and so on.

Yes.  I bought a couple of books.

One writer did appeal to me – I’d got her book out of the library and then bought it at the event.

The other author – they were put on together though they had little in common – the other person was a crime writer, and – I do read all sorts – but I found his depiction of women (once I got the book home) not at all to my taste.

I’m sorting out my house, and I can’t keep all these books.  I just haven’t space for them all.  And so I am putting into the charity shop those that I am not impressed with and those that I have outgrown.  Some go in the bin.

I don’t care what they are – I was keeping classics for a long time because I thought I might end up with a teaching career.

But – if I don’t like books, out they go.  I’ll keep those that mean something to me in one way or another.  That does include some heavy theoretical tomes.  But I also have genre – and, yes, some of those that are considered classics that I do like.

I keep on going over the same things, and I have said some of this before.

But it seems important to say it again now and maybe I say more this time than I did the last.

I can’t be bound.

Blogging, though.  How far does it help you with your writing?

One day, I might go along to that ‘blogging’ class – just to find out how they justify themselves.

I’m sorting out my house.

I tell people I am not goal-orientated, and I am not, as far as my writing is concerned – when I am doing it.  Oh, I might get to a point where I know what is going to happen in it – how it is going to resolve so far, at least – and I’ll jot down consecutive points before I forget them – but that not going very far ahead in the story – what I write does change as I go along.

And I suppose – that looks like a plot-plan, or as though I am working towards a goal.

I’m talking of way in my past here, when I was trying to write – romance at first because someone said money could be made at it – make my money, I thought, and then I could write my real writing – I’m jotting this down now as it comes – and then a science fiction – when the romance didn’t work – I wrote at least one of 50,000 words, which was the length the publisher was looking for – but unacceptable – it didn’t follow the standard procedure – I couldn’t control the writing in that way –

Enough prevaricating – I can’t tell everything all at once.

I’m sorting out my house, I say.

That is a – goal – of sorts – in the same way that I am sorting out my writing – I am going through it all, more or less in a chronological order of when I wrote it – long-term goals, both of those.

But I haven’t thought of those that way.

Those are two broad things that I am doing in my life.

But so far-reaching the ends of them are way in the distance, beyond where I can see, over the horizon.

I have just finished sorting through a load of tablecloths that I inherited.

I have washed them all but ironed none of them.

I have worked through a criterion of ‘what I like’.

And I won’t put tablecloths on the table as a matter of course.  I would like to be that way.  It was the way I was brought up.  It would be nice . . .

But going through all my writing takes as much of my space as – I mean ‘time’ but didn’t want to say so –

I have kept a few embroidered tablecloths.  Because I like them.

The others can go.

There is ‘being special’.

And there is the someone saying you are special (to her or him) but in a manipulative way (that is, that person wants something out of you).

I’ve got to rely on myself.

I can lean on no one.

I talk but without saying anything.

There are traps all around me.

And I need to figure those out.

One step at a time.

One foot in front of the other.

I’m better doing things through words, in fact, rather than figures.

I find that I need to post this in order to be able to move in any direction.

I can’t remember exactly who this refers to, now, except that I know I had trouble with a blogger once, taking what wasn’t hers – and, when I complained, altering the conversation we’d had, through editing (at her end), so that it appeared I was an idiot, not her a thief.

She is in this concern somewhere.

But what I mean here – more far-reaching than my trouble with her, and relating back to some time in my childhood – this blogger reminded me of that in a strange way but it took me some time to recognise it.

I also, when I wrote this (a few days ago), felt as though I wasn’t getting across what I wanted to say at all.

No one knew what I was talking about.

And that relates back to childhood, when you are saying and saying and you haven’t the words.

To think that moral views pertain forever is a bit Kantian.

What I have said there is so imperfect, but I am an amateur philosopher and this is what I can put forward as a thought.

The best writing doesn’t go on the blog any more!

This is an information blog and it is not always accurate.

 

I have bits and pieces of text all over my desk again.

I shall put the oddments (they are odd) here, and use this blog-space as a repository.

“Have just a roll of text – like a book but backwards,” I said.  “This is why I want a blog.”

 

It’s a morality that stands alone.  It mattered then.  It matters now.  It will matter.

Always.

That was it.

Something like that.

Oh – the categorical imperative.

 

When you say things, and people don’t see what you intended:

You can have intention but your projected point is not reached, as often as not.

This is my experience.

 

How many threads have I got here now?

Am I going to separate them into separate blog posts?

Quite frankly, if I do that now, I might never be able to move forward.

Push these aside in a bundle.

Deal with them later.

Why shouldn’t your blog posts be hold-alls?

Just ideas, you know.

Way to go . . .

It isn’t about doing it right.  It’s about exploring.  (Adriene, Yoga with Adriene, ‘Reuniting with your breath’, YouTube.)

Jung – synchronisation.  A coincidence occurs.  It can seem eerily uncanny.  Coincidences are where the outside world comes together with your inner concern.  It is a non-causal way to get around the world.

I translate that as ‘follow your instinct’.

 

I tap into a vein of anger.

I meditate and it engages.

I stop, pick up my pen.  What was in my mind dissipates as vapour.  I can’t catch it.  But catch it I must – I must let that out.

I break rules.

I knew it.

I try not to say it all but here it comes.

 

What I read:

Karl Ove Knausgaard.

Stephen King.

Chuck Wendig.

Enid Blyton . . .

But where do I stop this list?

No.  This stuff comes into the body of the text or in comments or – even – emails.

Do I include ‘The Newspaper’ in that?

It’s all grist to the mill.