Part II of Dr Who

The last post I drafted 6 days ago and it's only today that I've been able to have a quick read and post it before starting again.  So, ever determined, here I am . . . and it's about time I started with a little of my story, and how I ended up here.  Writing, or trying to write, or trying to write in a manner that would make the content even marginally entertaining to any of you who come across it.

So in a country far, far away.  There was a princess who was waiting for her prince.  No . . . hang on a minute, I've ended up way to deep in my imagination, the fairytale, time to drag myself out quick sharpish.  And, relax, back to reality.

I've held for a long time a fantasy or being able to entertain people with words.  I prefer to consider my words before I speak, although this is unlikely to be the case after a few to many beers.  I prefer to listen and observe rather than be the maker of conversation.  I guess I may class myself as an evesdropper of sorts.

Anyway, I've digressed again, moving away from why I want to tell a story.

My upbringing was one like many.  An absent Father, brought up by my very loving Mother with loving Grandparents who lived close by.  This is a situation which has been sadly normal for many families in this day and age.  My Father worked abroad and I have only two memories of him up until the age of 31.  The first one waiting excitedly for him to arrive, constantly looking out of the window and wondering where he was and the other time in the Little Chef in Camberley, probably about 1978.  Although thinking about it, these two memories may have been just the one visit.  He would write and send presents occasionally, which I loved.  One thing that I didn't do was write back which has been a constant 'what if' question.  This was a guy who sent me presents and I had no understanding of the implications that my lack of writing would have on our future relationship.  So we lost touch.  He was out in the world just a figment of my imagination but never to far from my thoughts.

If there is anyone reading this who has a similar experience then you may have heard of the pychological impact this may have on you as an adult - the abandonment theory.

In its most basic form, as a small child losing a parent, the subconscious believes that losing someone will always happen and will work very hard to protect you to ensure this doesn't happen again thereby avoiding any hurt and potential future pain.  So relationships will be built with those who are unsuitable, who are married, who are likely to leave you and those whom you've only just me and are never likely to see again.  This way you are at no real risk of being truly intimate and therefore truly hurt again.  But be assured these are not intentional choices as the desire to be completely loved and settled are at the forefront of the mind. And so the pattern continues with the desire for intimacy deeper than just sexual intimacy but without the emotional tools to know how to get it?  And so I continued on this journey until one particularly bad breakup left me on Christmas Day deciding that I had to find this elusive person, my father.  And so the journey began.

The question is, how much should I write in any one post, how much detail and how much of myself should I unveil.  This is after all, my journey into writing rather than a story of my life.  Time to ponder . . . .

Life as a Time Traveller

It's just a couple of days short of two months since I posted last and I'm sure I don't remember where that time went.  My own personal Tardis is living inside me and moving time faster than Dr Who.

You see, the big plan is to practice writing, develop my writing, develop my own personal style for my novel.  You know the idea, the novel that we all have inside us?  My plan to get there is quite simple to start, for I only need to write the shortest of posts everyday, to get the fingers moving, the grey matter sparking, the creative juices flowing and I've already failed at that.  But I guess as ever the true motivational speaker will tell you, you've only failed if you never try again.

Here I am, starting over.  I refuse to live a life most ordinary, it's not in my nature, although my life has been pretty ordinary so far.  A constant internal struggle like a herd of cats trying to get out of a sack tied up with rope is my most everyday feeling and the way to quieten the cats is to write, exercise and spend time with loved ones.  I'm doing two of those things now.

It's time to re-set the Tardis and continue on the course set, with no deviations along the way into self sabotague, fear and doubt.