And, so, I continue into the great unknown of knowing whether I have any ability or just bundles of wishful thinking and the ability to daydream without the aid of any artificial imagination enhancers. Does an ice cold beer count? So where to start on practicing writing to create my novel? I've really no idea. Many years ago I paid for and attended, at least twice a Creative Writing course. Twice was enough to realise that the course was really about listening to what everybody else had written. It felt very self indulgent. Well, it might have, if I was any good and wanted to share my masterpiece. I'm not and I didn't.
So the humiliation starts here. If this blog gets public, it's not because I intended it to, it's sheer social media witchery, which I've had bugger all influence over.
Oh, and if you should happen to be reading this, there's a crucial fact you should know. I'm crap at telling stories. Great half stories, stories without a punchline, even forgetting most of a potential story after the first line has left my mouth. Story telling is not one of my skills. So be warned. I'm not convinced my grammar is great and my Mother repeatedly tells me how crap I was at spelling when at school.
Here's to . . . improving?
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