Months ago, I began writing an article about monologues. Yesterday I found myself once again mucking about with it, adding more content (well, in the intervening months there have been several additional experiences to recount), reorganising the few pieces I liked from what was already there, rewriting bits I no longer liked, deleting items which were distracting, then writing extra material which is probably also going to end up on the ‘not relevant’ cutting pile – or maybe once again change the direction of the piece.
I just can’t seem to decide what is the angle. But more importantly, I just can’t finish it. As soon as I get somewhere with it, I congratulate myself with another cup of coffee, or a long walk, or even – when desperate – with reading a book for half an hour before it becomes time to cook supper again. And that’s just when I’m engaged with it at all. In those intervening months, I’ve managed to write several songs, watch more plays and TV shows (only in the evenings – I am very strict on this), read more books than ever before, respond to Twitter items about writing (so it seems we’re all as bad as each other in this respect – so, how exactly has that helped?)
In fact, I’ve just taken a break to pop along to collect something from a neighbour, then read the Introduction to a new book (which I’m aiming to make part of my next writing effort – like, that’s going to happen!), emptied the washing machine and checked my connection for an upcoming webinar.
And then completely forgot to post this.
So, now I’m another day further along the line with no appreciable progress – unless you count progress as learning about Sea Shanties on TikTok (and why they’re mostly not shanties at all) and scribbling several more ideas for blog posts in a notebook I can’t currently locate – sigh.