Just publish free writing? Unedited? You must be mad. Nobody needs to see my stream of consciousness. It’s dark. And besides, there are things I should be doing. A nappy that needs changing. A dog who keeps licking my arm to let me know she needs a walk. A client who needs chasing. Breakfast plates that need cleaning up so that A doesn’t just graze all day.
I can’t just publish. It’s too confessional. I’d have to admit that sometimes I struggle to remember children’s names and so have trawled Facebook for the past ten minutes to find out. Or that I just chucked the sofa cover on top of the sofa because I can’t even deal with wrestling with it right now. Or that I am not going to write for 20 minutes because I do things in 15 minute blocks and my craziness likes to keep things consistent:
Either a) do an entire job or b) if it would take more than 15 minutes, then do it in 15 minute blocks and reassess.
I have so many timers. Bosu bells, iPhone, oven, Chrome extension. Even a playlist that’s as close to 15 minutes as I could get. It means no Boo To You parade music, but some days that’s a good thing.
I don’t know how to write creatively yet. I’m still too stuck in all the things I’ve been unable to say in the real world. If you know me, and how weird I am, you must be thinking “Dear God, how can this woman find even more to say?” I can’t promise it’s useful, or even nice, but I have to, for the sake of my togetherness as a person, get it all out.