Stream of a Conscience


There is a fear which haunts all writers and that fear is loss of inspiration. We all experience dry periods in which words, ideas and the construction of plots elude us; our waking hours punctuated by non-productivity and night time by the sweat of non-fulfilment. Over the last few days, I been firing blanks of concepts, refusing to build into a seed of a form embracing a composition, deserving to be heard. I am tired. However, I need to write. Please forgive my stream of consciousness style.
Two days ago I returned from my holiday in Malta. When abroad, I would like to have experienced a touch of the culture of the country I have visited. Unfortunately, on this holiday I learned more about British culture than that of Malta. Initially, piqued by the attitude and demeanour of the non-British staff at hotel where we stayed, as the week evolved I realised that they had been stereotyping us based on their experience of other British holiday makers. I felt embarrassed by the behaviour of my fellow Brits and doubly embarrassed by my own embarrassment. These were people, similar in social and economic background to many of the people who had populated by younger life. I felt not comradeship for these, my working class brothers and sisters but, frustration. Uncomfortable in my own skin, I had behaved exactly as the hotel staff had towards the other British holiday makers, I had stereotyped them. In this instance, as the kind of working class people who would stand not with defiant fists clenched at the boundaries of a picket line but, would push aside honourable strikers and lay with management. When I heard voices raised, from the “English style,” pub next to the hotel, in a chorus of, “There’ll always be an England,” I knew not whether to smile or frown. Stereotyping is reductive and objectionable. We all do it.

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Maltese Delight


I think I deserve a holiday so…I am having one! Tomorrow, we head off for a week in the sunny Mediterranean. The last few months have delivered a seed of potential for a new life, my novella The General Paralysis of Sanity was finally published and I have learned how to centralise self. Not at the expense of others, but purely for the sake of my own mental health. I have always found it difficult to say, “No,” but I am learning.
My experience of writing has heightened my empathy for other writers. In the past I have been too dismissive of genre fiction, perceiving it as inferior to more literary type writing. Writing can be bloody hard and earning one’s living as a writer almost impossible. Thus, I send loving vibes to all you struggling writers, out there! For, although writing should not be about money, book sales keep writers alive.
To readers who are reluctant to venture into the age of the e-book, why not put aside your prejudices and download a book by an indie or self-published writer. Available for your critical indulgence are many great books bypassed by publishers not because they are badly written, but for all sorts of reasons, including the difficulties of marketability and commercialism.
In case I am unable to blog for the next week, I beseech you all to contact me via twitter etc. I am beginning to build a very interesting “following” and my twitter door is open to all, especially other writers/wannabe writers. Until next time, keep reading…and writing.