I have a few writing projects on the go at the moment.
I’m desperately trying to finish my Bridport entry for one. I also have several short stories I want to enter into other competitions and I have one other project of which I can’t say much about at this time. The wife reads this. I think she does anyway. Sorry for all the hush hush. All will be made clear in a few months.
I suppose many wannabe pen monkeys feel this way from time to time. There are simply not enough hours and those that I do manage to take for myself are devoid of any writers inspiration.
I’ve read that to be truly successful, or at least to have any chance of sampling a single iota of success, you have to be a be able to write any time. Otherwise how would you ever stick to a schedule?
So I’m going to go and sit down at my desk now. I’m going to take a bottle of wine with me and then I’m going to punch that keyboard until the word count bleeds. I don’t care what comes out. Who knows? It could be the best stuff I’ve done to date.
Man, that says a lot about my talent doesn’t it?
Author: Mark S Thompson
Okay, so these things are kind of hit and miss. If you’re reading this then I am thankful to you for taking the time out of your day to do so. I’ll be honest, when I think of myself as a writer, I kinda cringe. Don’t get me wrong, it is the dream, it's just I never really believe it will go anywhere.
When I think back to the day that I first knew I loved writing, and I mean really knew, I see myself sitting in an English lesson at secondary school. The school was called Wrotham and is in the county of Kent, England. As far as I know, it's still there. English was far and away my favourite subject. The best bit was when the teacher gave the class a selection of words and asked us to make up a story that either contained those words or was about those words, you know. At other times we would be given the first sentence and then write what happens next. Good times. Many times my work would reflect what I had recently read and it would be okay. Nothing special, just okay. On one occasion though I wrote about a merman called Finchy and can remember going into so much depth and detail about him and the underwater kingdom he lived in. I really enjoyed writing that and it must have shown because my teacher commented on it. She was really impressed and loved the story. That was it for me, my moment. Now when I write I think back to those great times and to that story. Hopefully, I’ll write something that you, the reader, will be moved to comment on. For me, there is no greater elixir
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