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.

Grr! Snarl! (Tygpress.com)

There is a site (I have found out) that steals other people’s posts – it is tygpress.com – that spike in my viewings – (that day) – that was it.

Spider-bots, I’ve heard.  Would be.  They say they keep on crawling over your site to keep what you have on theirs.

Some people (I’ve heard) are blogging on anyway because they are not planning on publishing any of their posts.  (And they are not going to be stopped!)  Their blogging is fun – nothing serious.

I’m not in that position.  Everything I write is deadly serious – even innocuous-seeming stuff can lead, for me, into – other writing.

As I write this, my blog is on ‘private’, and that seems to have done it with the rogue site – my posts have disappeared from it.

To check if they have anything of yours, go to the site, put your name or blog name into the search bar, and scroll down.

Deleting whatever they have from your own site, or making your site private, does the trick.

I’ll delete all mine (I have a copy of everything) and leave this post on public to warn anyone who visits.

 

That’s weird. Someone really likes me.

I’ve had a sudden spike in views – 31 – all from one visitor in Germany.

Maybe some of you have lots of views, and this wouldn’t be surprising to you, but I was surprised enough to shut down to private.  What was happening?

Since then, I’ve looked in a forum, and this smiling guy said (to someone else) – enjoy it while it’s happening!  Someone really likes your writing!

Well, we’ll see.

With my interest in the spheres of public and private, this is like a wake-up call – or it might be paranoia setting in.

 

No.  That happy smiling guy can say what he wants – I’m not at all sure about this.  A spike?  It is my instinct to stay well clear of spikes.

If you see any posts dotted about the place that look as though they could be mine, possibly written in German, will you let me know?