The Easter Race

Easter isn't such a big deal for me. Some years, it means a four day weekend. Some years, it means that I get to stuff myself wiht chocolate, and that can only be a good thing. This year, it means both, in negative ways. Sure, I love the lie ins, but my Dad and bro are here, stuck at home, nosing in at me, and I can't get rid of them just yet.

It also means I have to eat properly, and I haven't the space to get rid of it. I bet my friends are happy for me. I'm sorta glad, cos I never want to hurt anybody. In fact, right now I'm also doing something harmless: watching the Oxford/Cambridge boat race. I don't care who wins, really, but I do feel more of a link to it because of my friend Claire* - she lives near Mortlake and her sister goes to one of the unis. I can't remember anything these days. Anyway, it's not such a close race - Oxford is winning because they're big and pretty.

Now, the race is all finished, Dad's all naggy about my non existent homework, but thats not on my mind. I'm thinking of my writing. I've been looking at my poetry, which I need to copy up. I used to be good. I used to do 8 four line ABAB stanza with perfect rhythm, in story form, without even realising it. Now I can't even do a decent Acronym story. I blame English lit/lang - always making me think about what I'm writing. What blessed me as a wannabe writer was ignorance. And to think that I hate(d) forced ignorance. Now I think too much, and I know what I'm aiming, and poetic nirvana now just seems a lot harder to reach. What I'm going to do now is search for Philip Pullman interviews. I would be the happiest girl alive if I was half as talented and together as he is. He's ignorant and intelligent, and is aware of this, and doesn't let it stop him from producing such legendary, ambitious works. Because I need to soothe away my writing blocks before it becomes a deaf defying iron curtain, a lethal hole in my psyche. Maybe I just need to leave the wound alone, and let it seal over, and relax a little. Perhaps I need to stop thinking about writing competitions, and use my old stuff if I have to, and just wait for all the ideas to knock and my door and sell themselves. After all, the best poems I've written have come out in creative burps: An idea that came rushing towards me, almost fully formed and written in under ten minutes. Thats my style. I'm a natural writer. Searching for things just throws me off course. Dear God, what was I thinking??? I think I was just trying to impress you guys. It's fun, being impressive. Its make you mighty and it boosts your confidence, realising your own potential and I'd like to that every day. It just turns out I...can't. Ooh! I've found the link, I knew it was here. Have a read, if you're trying to figure out how to write.