Yes, it’s that time of the month when insecure writers of the world unite and state that they have nothing to lose but their fears… This month I am feeling insecure about politics. There’s so much hostility flying around in the political arena, what with post-Brexit recriminations (and racism), Labour Party factionalism, Donald Trump ghastliness (and Hillarious beastliness) that it’s hard to know where to turn. It’s tempting, in fact, to turn right off and say nothing whatever about anything as the fear of being shot down in flames is too great.
But when you feel passionate about something you can’t just shut up and go away. And there’s the rub: because in expressing passionate opinions you lay yourself open to all kinds of responses, from the enthusiastic to the Eeyore-ish, from the respectfully disagreeing to the abusive. So whereas I feel more secure than I did about, say, my poetry, and I don’t mind so much if people don’t like it, I do tend to feel insecure when I express political opinions.
Aaand talking of a range of reactions, get a load of this then:
Yes, it’s my latest haircut (well, not so much a haircut, more a close shave.) The other day I was lamenting the lack of dosh to visit the hairdresser’s. Then I reflected that I didn’t really know what sort of haircut I wanted anyway. So I got out the clippers, intending to cut a bit off the bottom and maybe shave the underside to cool off a bit. And I just got carried away. It feels great, as if a weight has been taken off my mind (!) but what’s interesting is the range of reactions I’ve had from people, from outright enthusiasm (Wow! It looks great!) to a somewhat more wary (gosh, isn’t it short!) to the frankly scared. Drastic changes do tend to evoke strong reactions in people and you can’t always predict who will react in what way.
But I digress. This month we Insecure Writers are asked to blog about our first writing project: what was it, when was it and, most crucially, where is it now?
Well, I’ve blogged about this before, but here goes. My first serious writing project began in about 1981. It was a novel called ‘Seven Days’ and concerned a woman trapped in a nuclear bunker (remember, this is pre-glasnost.) When no-one else comes, she concludes that they are all dead and that she is trapped alone in the bunker until it’s safe to go out. To prevent herself from going mad she starts to write her memories. Each day she recalls a different stage in her life, leading up to the recent past when the plot-twist happens and on the last day, Sunday, she leaves the bunker. Sadly this novel has remained unpublished as I haven’t been able to do enough with it. But I haven’t given up…
Happy Insecure Wednesday, fellow-writers! And here’s the obligatory link to the blog: