Just for once, I was careless and mentioned my writing.
Not my blog, you must understand.
My writing.
This was braver than you might imagine
because she is a Poet and Creative Writing Tutor.
As soon as the words were out of my mouth
I wanted to scrabble around in the air between us
and frantically drag them back to me.
I did not want that 'writing' word to cross the room.
She, of the extraordinary red necklace,
was generosity personified
and offered to look at the work I had mentioned.
I thought about throwing myself out of the window
to avoid this embarrassing experience
but decided that MrM needed someone to iron his shirts.
She, of the beautiful red and black skirt,
said very kind things.
I am sure that even if it was total drivel
she would still have said kind things.
Later, she, of the knee high, elegant, black buckled boots,
gave me two books to read.
Not my blog, you must understand.
My writing.
This was braver than you might imagine
because she is a Poet and Creative Writing Tutor.
As soon as the words were out of my mouth
I wanted to scrabble around in the air between us
and frantically drag them back to me.
I did not want that 'writing' word to cross the room.
She, of the extraordinary red necklace,
was generosity personified
and offered to look at the work I had mentioned.
I thought about throwing myself out of the window
to avoid this embarrassing experience
but decided that MrM needed someone to iron his shirts.
She, of the beautiful red and black skirt,
said very kind things.
I am sure that even if it was total drivel
she would still have said kind things.
Later, she, of the knee high, elegant, black buckled boots,
gave me two books to read.
This one fits in my handbag
and I read it in small snatches.
I cannot read it all at one go
because then the sense of the ridiculous creeps in
and I read it in small snatches.
I cannot read it all at one go
because then the sense of the ridiculous creeps in
"Why am I reading a book about writing?
I am not a writer
Am I?"
I am not a writer
Am I?"
16 comments:
It is funny how writing creeps up on one :)
You certainly are a writer...and a photographer too.
Exactly what blackbird said.
Of course you are.
you are anything you want to be.
I know far too well the fear of saying that you are a writer, because that hallowed term belongs to other more legitimate people, and what you do is some sort of private scribbling. I couldn't even say it while I was doing my MA, which is absurd, but the truth is that the only thing that matters is how you feel when you're writing, and when you're writing, you are most definitely a writer.
Enjoy Natalie :)
Well you are writing aren't you?
go back and read through your archives - you'll find writing there - that should answer your question...
Gosh, you are brave. It must have felt a bit like standing naked in public view - not that I'd know, but ... oh I give up. No-one's going to give me any writing books, that's for sure.
Anyway, we're all reading, so I think you know the answer already.
(I was going to be flippant, but it seemed rather inappropriate ;-)
I would answer affirmatively. Yes,indeed you are a writer.
You have me completely intrigued. The red necklace, the skirt, the boots....there's a character there winking at me from your post. I think she wants to be written into a short story, or a poem, or another post. Write on. Please.
Yes, of course you are. Why else do you wake before everyone else in the house to steal the time to write your beautiful words on this blog? The satisfaction you get from playing with the words until you have just a few perfectly formed sentences seems to suggest that a writer is very much living in your body, even if you're not aware of it. x
I would say you are.
And a rather good one.
I think you are.
Oh yes you are!
And early on, didn't I say I thought you should publish a book - and I'll be first in line?
Post a Comment