2 April 2018 Entry: "Still Learning"
I woke up from a strange dream this Easter Monday. Iíd written something critical or sarcastic about the railways and when I went to the station to buy a ticket, three men there said ĎOh, itís youí and put cloth over their heads and refused to acknowledge my request to buy a ticket or speak to me.
What was that about? Iím told that counsellors and therapists say that everything and everyone in a dream says something about the person dreaming it.
Is it about writing; permission to write; self-censorship? Is it about the scary information coming out about how much information there is online about our thoughts, purchases and movements?
April is the cruellest month and my thoughts turn to Julia and Keith and those no longer here. Julia always seemed fearless to me and I try to live up to her example. Donít be downhearted by failure to write: write better and enjoy living.
Being self employed gives me a sense that Iím never Ďnot workingí and free time should be spent at my desk. I feel guilty when I apparently Ďdo nothingí - reading a book, doing a crossword, watching tv, yet all activities feed our imagination.
Iíve started going to Emma Hollidayís art class at the Cluny on a Friday morning and I love it, partly because someone else is giving me permission to do it, and telling me what to do. Itís a way of being creative in an entirely different form from writing and itís deliriously freeing. Yet I often see parallels with what Emma teaches us about art in how to go about writing: donít be tentative, make the mark on the blank page, commit yourself, it may not come out how you imagined but youíve got started, something to work with and change, or an experience to learn from next time you try.
Fear of failure is a huge stumbling block but if I consider giving up writing then I feel bereft, because I love it in equal measure or more than the agony it gives me.
Easter Monday and thereís sleety snow outside my window, a perfect excuse to light the fire and read a book, after I finish the picture in oil pastels of pinky yellow tulips on my windowsill, both given me by a friend (pastels and tulips).
Jill of all trades, mistress of none, but hey! Iím still learning.