Welcome to my blog which is one year old today. The story that it has
told has not been the one I hoped it would tell when I began. I am not yet an
author earning my living from writing. Or from anything for that matter. I do
still have some 34 weeks to go so this isn’t resignation to failure. Actually
I’m not someone who can resign himself to failure. Especially not when it comes
to my writing. Do I expect to succeed? No. Could it happen? Yes.
It might have helped if I had stuck to my plan, which was to
concentrate on trying to sell articles and short stories while making my novels
available. In fact I have at no point sent an article or story to a
magazine. Seems a bit strange really, in
hindsight, that I haven’t even sent one off. I did write a novel because Sam
Wafe liked the opening chapters and said he would publish it when it was
finished. Has he? No.
Everything else I’ve written has been about death or the day of the
dead and stuck on a website. This Day of the Dead idea appeared in September
and has absolutely taken over. Nothing else is being done. Even the rewriting
of ‘Sex with Maggie’ ground to a halt after two chapters. I could of course
change tack, or rather, get back on track – (boat to train, mixed metaphors
indeed) – but I won’t because really it is too late to do so.
*****
As I write there is a gale blowing. The dustbins have blown over, there
are bits of tree on the road and my garden fence looks like it could go down
any moment. It is a thin line between being dramatic and exciting on the one
hand and dangerous on the other. The storm raged throughout the night and maybe
is just beginning to abate. Behind my back garden are two inappropriately large
trees, an Ash and an Eucalyptus. If either of those fell, or even dropped a
larger branch, they could do some serious damage. Being England, one tends to
think that the weather will never really be that bad but add a few more knots
to the wind and anything could happen.
****
Yesterday I went to a conference of a group whose core belief is the
continuity of consciousness after death. The group has 77 members, of whom 17
turned up to the meeting in Totnes. I went to network and because I have
sympathy towards their aims. It is hard not to think, however, that they are
bunch of loonies, even though I know they are not. The problem (and I suspect
they may know this) is that one of the founders lives in a community where they
have developed gentle ways of dealing with one another. For example, rather
than clap when they feel appreciative, they wave their hands in the air and
when they’re in the mood they decide to have a sing-song.
When the meeting began, we were asked to sit in the circle and
introduce ourselves saying ‘what was stopping us from being present, what had
fired us to be there and one thing that was wonderful about us. Now I’ve done
my time as a touchy-feely encounterish type person and thus I understand where
they are coming from but it is not a mode in which I feel that comfortable in,
particularly if it involves singing and dancing, neither of which I want to do
in a group of strangers. Also, those that are used to behaving in such a way don’t
seem to realize that the one thing stopping some of us being present was having
to wait in dread for our turn to be made to speak. Two of the women, who had
not been before, clearly found the opening statements very challenging. When I
spoke to them afterwards they both said that their work involves public speaking
in role and that was no problem but
in this circumstance they hated doing it.
I wouldn’t say I did a great job at networking. What happens to me is
that I am half present during the day and then when I get home, have a few
smokes and make myself comfortable, I then realize what I should and could have
done. For example, the gist of the meeting seemed to be to plan a five day
festival for the group. The fact that only 17 of 77 made it for one day seemed
to be ignored. Last night I saw that there was no outlining of vision, or
statement of current reality, and I felt their festival was doomed to failure.
On the other hand, they believe in what they are doing, and in trusting, and who
knows, their festival may be a damn sight more successful than mine.
I stayed until 4.30 when we were supposed to be having a final network
session. I know I should have at least said my goodbyes but no, I just slipped out
of the door, jumped in my car and drove 85 mph all the way home.
****
Monday morning. The storm has passed and we are left with rain and a certain amount of damage in the garden, with the fence on one side blown down and on the other side quite broken. The meeting on Saturday was in an ancient house that had two giant log fires but no warmth. I spent the day freezing and now have a cold. On reflection I could have done a lot better with my sales pitch. These were people ready and wanting to be inspired. I did condescend to leave some leaflets behind so we shall see if anyone contacts me.
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