%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |
Apparently blog is short for weblog. |
| I will now attempt to blog. |
| I went to a driving range for the second time in my life. I’m thinking about getting into golf. I started with a wedge, and hit a few good shots, which was nice. I thought that maybe things were looking good, considering I could barely connect with the ball last time, but then I moved on to the irons — my nemesis clubs. I missed and missed, and whacked the ball every which way you weren’t supposed to. I decided to slow down, calm down, take a breather, go smoothly, and it worked. I was hitting shots with the seven, eight, and nine irons nicely. Of course, as a beginner’s beginner, the shots weren’t great, but for me they were cool. I could sense improvement in the air. Feeling smug, I moved on to the driver. The driver was the only club I was able to hit the ball with on my first go at the range, so I thought it was a safe choice to end the session with. Wrong. Somehow I was hooking the ball to the extreme left with every shot. I was scooping it badly. One scoop led to another… and another. I realised I was rushing frantically to take each shot. I slowed down again, focused on being real smooth. I had one ball left. Gracefully, I swung back and took the shot. The club connected with the ball for my best shot yet. Success. What a great feeling it was to smack the golf ball good. |
| Whilst walking Leo, I stopped to check my phone. Leo sniffed a good bit around some bushes. I half-noticed he was sticking his nose deeper in, but I was distracted by a message from my wife — a birthday present idea for mum. Suddenly, he was in the bushes, and I was yanking him out. He reappeared with a banana skin dangling from his mouth. Leo dodged my first attempt to get it from him, and in response, started chewing fast. The banana skin vanished into his mouth. He went to run, tail in the air, all proud of himself — but he forgot one key thing: he was still on the lead. I pulled him back, took hold of his mouth, pried it open. He resisted, naturally. But I won in the end. |
*** I think I’m good at writing minimally. Being direct and to the point feels natural to me. There’s a lightness to the prose when I write like this. If I try to write ‘clever’ or ‘masterful’ sentences, my head feels bogged down. I wonder if I have a very low reading and writing IQ — whatever that means. Are simple sentences all my intelligence can handle? I don’t think that’s it. When I use simple sentences, it feels as though I’m building a house, brick by brick. Each line is pulled from my head and carefully placed on the page, like little threads, and I feel my mind easing, calming, growing lighter. *** |
*** I think I should write in a really casual and informal way — conversational. When I try to write formally, in the style of whichever author I’m reading at the time, all the words on the page look phoney and empty and dusty. I’m a very informal person, and every bit of writing advice starts with ‘write what you know,’ you know? I know how to chat rubbish for hours and hours, using casual — unintelligent — language. Maybe that’s what I’ll do with this blog: chat rubbish for hours and hours. Peace. *** |
*** I’m struggling with writing at the moment. I’m motivated and passionate, that’s for sure. But I keep flip-flopping between style and form. Novel? Short story? Minimalist or maximalist? I read Hemingway and that’s that: I’m writing short stories. Then I read Pratchett, and I’m banging away at the keyboard, writing a Discworld knock-off. Next minute… And so on. It sure is difficult to stick to a style and genre with a brain as scattered as mine. *** |
*** We picked him up at a service station in Dover. He’d travelled by plane, ferry, and van all the way here from Cyprus. He cried when the man from the charity got him from the back of the van. He was so small and skinny and covered in muck. Leaning against my shins, he shivered and took his first look at England. As soon as we got him in the car, we gave him some chicken, and he settled down and stopped shaking. We used wet wipes to clean the muck from his black fur as he slept. We drove him home. We named him Leo. *** |
| Hello to anyone who stumbles upon this blog. I hope you didn't sprain anything. I've decided to start blogging a bit. I'm not entirely sure what I'll be blogging about. I'm currently working on a novel, and I've been writing flash fiction to practice my prose, and I'd quite like another excuse to practice writing, ergo, bloggo! Anyway, like everything else I do in life, I've decided to give this a go to see what happens. Blog over and out.  |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
