The audio of this blog post is here:
I moved into a unit in January 2018. I love living on my own again 😊
One thing that surprised me is how quickly I got back into writing, and how regularly I’ve been writing. Within a week of moving in, I had outlined a new memoir, and wrote an idea for another.
In the last month I’ve set myself a goal of writing for 10 minutes a day, just to get myself into a routine. I started drafting, by hand, about five pages for my next memoir. It is currently typed up and at 3,500 words.
I also outlined a synopsis each for six cosy mystery books and outlined four of them (3 pages each). I also outlined an educational resource for teenagers to customise their homework so it interests them.
I hope you enjoy this excerpt from the memoir that I’m writing. The book will be about writing.
Leaning back in my chair, I practice balancing on its two back legs. I balance, my legs almost horizontal, and adjust, picturing angles and a gravity rod through my core. I look at my legs. Hmm. Not sexy enough. I hitch up my skirt, adjusting until it looks just right. I sigh and relax.
Everything taken care of, I look around. Most students are writing. How the fuck do they concetrate for that long? What is soo interesting that they want to write this much? If I could work on something, it would be about other things I’d learned about architecture. Perhaps describing the building I designed for my social studies class. The assignment that my teacher rejected because it wasn’t all a written essay in one page of neat handwriting. I’d rather talk about each room and why it was there, than form a series of perfect letters on a fake architects plan.
A voice interrupts my musings “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” I look out of the window at my Social Studies teacher. I grimace and shrug. “It’s only lettering”. He sighs heavily. “I’ve got good news. You’ve got a B minus”. I sit up straight and thump the chair to the ground. “By who?” “Me” he states almost scorningly. “For what?” I demand. “Your letter (to the editor).”
I bloody knew it was good work. It formed so easily too. A joy from within spreads and is joined by feeling appreciated and understood. I grin broudly at him. “Now get back to work” he states, walking away.
Holy fuck, I got a B! Sure its a B minus, but still a B. I haven’t had those since early primary school. I know – I read and reread my report cards.
I sigh and relax again. With a joyous, clear head I get back to work. Within ten minutes, I’m lost in my musings about what else I could write, classwork angrily abandoned for the upteenth time today.
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