The more blogs I read, the more certain I become that I will never be a world shattering writer. There are so many brilliant minds transferring brilliant thoughts from busily tapping fingers to screens of willing readers, like myself. I am a casual poet. It’s not in my makeup to try and force lines on to blank pages, and forcing it would be. My poetry comes out of nowhere at no particular time or place. This can be inconvenient at times, especially when there isn’t a pen in sight, or in the early hours of the morning when sleep evades me. By the time morning comes, the thread is broken, the brilliance faded.
My reading is also spasmodic. Sometimes I read a lot, other times hardly at all. I like to dabble in a few crafts and switch from one to another often on a daily basis. I’m a big fan of Dickens, and Tim Winton, but really it’s whatever takes my fancy at the time. I would love to read ‘Songs of Fire and Ice’ but that’s a future project because we are looking to move house in the next few months and there’s too much to think about between now and then.
Does anybody read my posts? I would like to think they do and that they enjoy my words.