No. of words: 29,428
I feel like I'm starting to write from scratch.
Tearing it up.
Writing stuff again.
Squirming. Tearing it up.
Getting to the point where you show something you've written is big. That's where classes are good, it speeds it up, makes you do it before you know it, with lots of sympatico thrown in. But then again, get a cruddy class and it could finish you for life. Even getting a good class isn't necessarily a good thing. If you're really unlucky you'll end up like me, getting minor successes and chasing them round corners and up dark alleys forever more.
The one thing I know now is that it'll get better. That this is a wall to get through and then there will be times again where I can't wait to get onto the computer. Where I'll write for hours and think only seconds have passed. It feels a million miles away, but I shall plod on. At least I know it's a point worth reaching, even if the only thing I get out of it is the buzz.
There's a house we might look at on
ttp://twickenham-museum.org.uk/detail.asp?ContentID=213"> eel pie island , cheaper than this one. Mad, as I've always said the island has a strange, bleak atmosphere to it, but it does have a romantic side. Living on the river right by the shops and restaurants is appealing. Will have to start clearing junk soon. Have just discovered a freebay site I must look into. Getting rid of all our junk by e-mail sounds good to me.
The new neighbours have now put a circular washing line full of washing in the centre of their lawn. Doesn't bother me, just baffles me how they could prefer that view to the flowers.
Bye bye, thanks for visiting, come again soon.