I’m eating chocolate and feel lazy and fat, her message said, I hope you feel better than me.
Nop, I’m not doing any better than you, I wrote back. . . . Swap chocolate for ouzo (while in Greece) and we’re in the same canoe.
Continue reading “Feeling Frazzled”
It’s re-write time and from the muddy pool of shitty drafts, a small jewel appears – at least I think it’s a jewel. I rinse it, I dry it and polished it down to the bone. What’s left is a mere smidgen of a vignette, but it gives me hope. – A different kind of hope from what I had back then, – I hope. . .
He woke me in the middle of the night. “You have to help me now Vigdis,” I remember his stuttered whisper. His silhouette looked pitiful in the arched opening he’d cut – between my two basement rooms – years earlier. His figure crooked and unstable against the light falling in behind him.
Continue reading “Hope”
I always thought there where two kinds of people – those with and those (like me) without confidence. Those WITH confidence seemed more genuine.
I never thought confident/genuine people liked me, maybe it was because I ‘felt’ fake. I was definitely not my self – I didn’t know how. I hadn’t even heard the word authentic.
Do you recognise the ‘feeling’ when you ‘think’ someone doesn’t like you?
Here are a few questions – to myself – I’ve been pondering.
Continue reading “Why Don’t you like me?”
You know, when you go to write the ‘homepage’ of your website, the homage of yourself and the light you want to shine in the world, – you can’t just pluck it out of thin air, – right? Or can you?
As a memoirist, I would love to write fiction, to spin my stories into ancient times of myths and fairytales, of deities and gods more powerful than any world-leaders I’ve seen. Sometimes softly spoken though mostly raging against some foreign enemy, like the rising tide of the Nile. – Ohhhh, I feel the creative juices bubbling over the top of my imagination cauldron by the pure imagery of it all.
I think I made a mistake when I promised myself I would finish my memoir before I started a new story.
Continue reading “Even Writers . . .”