ideas – Page 3 – don't confuse the narrator

creative grit

The guy at the pub is right: poems are hard.

Sometimes you have a great idea – the tiny bit of grit with potential to grow into a beautiful pearl – but however much you turn and tweak and worry it, it seems to refuse to gather form and realise its potential.

When this happens, all you can do is put the notes to one side and let your subconscious go on working while you get on and do other things.
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skeletons in the archive

Once more, I’ve sat down at the computer without any idea of what to write. I don’t think I’ve ever really worried about suffering with writer’s block, but often days and weeks go by without any new ideas surfacing.

One reason for continuing with this blog is that it forces me to write something, even if it’s just re-posting a poem from the past; it makes me dig out an image or two to go alongside and forces me to combine words and ideas into some form of logical structure, some kind of complete unit: essentially, it reminds me that however little new creative writing I am doing, I still consider myself a writer.
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blank

I came across some old photos yesterday, which is just as well, as my mind is a blank and at least they give me something to post.

I have been meaning to write this post since yesterday morning and the few thoughts I’ve had are rubbish.
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nothing but fluff

I have been distracted by real life, so haven’t posted to the blog for nearly three weeks. Now, when I have finally found time to sit at the computer, there seems to be nothing in my head but fluff. If I am to make a post today, I think the best I can do is fall back on old photos.
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up and away

Once again, I’ve sat down at the computer today without any ideas about what to write. My suitcase is lying on the sofa behind me, too full for me to close it; my desk is almost hidden under an assortment of papers, cables and chargers, and shoes and sandals are liberally scattered across the floor. So far, none of the work stuff or shoes are in the case, which is a wee bit worrying, and nor is my ticket among the papers.

There is clearly still a lot to do if I am to catch my train in a couple of hours time.

So I’ve found an eight-year-old photo which fits well with the idea of travel, as well as being fairly topical – it was taken at the Bristol Balloon Fiesta in 2005. (Why do I have a complete set of 2005 photos on my laptop? Might this tendency to hoard give an insight into why my case won’t shut?) This year’s festival starts on Thursday.

Now I must fly. Though not in a balloon.