Sunday Scribbling - Mis-spent Youth

Oh. Youth. So long ago, so far away, and still, so near in memory, so much a part of me now, just under the skin, just below the surface: There she is, the girl who skipped out on a maths test to go fishing. (No, it was not the fish, but the man with the plan, of course, that attracted me). There she is, the one who would follow anyone with a guitar, who chanced it and tried it, just once, mostly. She skipped school, and spent hours in cafes, hours and hours, long enough for one crowd to come in and go, and another to take their place, and still she would sit, waiting in hopes that HE would come in, and when he did, well, she had no shame, that girl, I tell you... flirting, flirting. Shyness came earlier, and shyness came later, but at that time, when she was sixteen, oh, there wasn't a trace of shyness, not when what was at stake was HIM. Even (I blush to admit it), when there was a girlfriend. She knew that girl wasn't meant for him. She was meant for him, obviously! And all was fair in that love, at least.

Those were the days of self as centre of the universe, those were the days when nothing else was important, and no-one else, either. Days of impromptu camping trips (and white lies to explain them), and riding pillion without a helmet. Those were days of invincibility, and days when, if it all went wrong today, it could all start to go right again tomorrow, maybe. Days of taking risks and speaking without worrying about consequences. Those were the days spent in doing just what I was meant to be doing. Those were the days of youth, spent being young, swinging my hair, lighting up that cigarette, days of chats and giggles, songs played over and over on the record-player, shared plates of chips and hours sitting on the grass of the park. Those were the days when adults didn't have a clue, when we understood the world, and knew, with certainty, that we would stay forever young.

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Go see how all the other Sunday Scribblers spent the days of their youth HERE

NaNoWriMo Madness has struck!!!!

I said I wouldn't do it. It doesn't make sense this year. I have busy days, busy evenings, travelling to do. I have no time to spare. I had no intention - believe me - no intention whatsoever of launching into the crazy madness of attempting to write a novel in 30 days, but something happened on Saturday morning. Was that 3rd November? Yes, see, I was home and there was this laptop there, and it called me. I distinctly heard it whispering "Hey, Me-e-e-el ! Remember me?... Remember why you bought me last year?... Aren't you going to even think about it?"

And suddenly there I was making coffee in my Minnie Mouse mug (that's my NaNo mug, you know), putting on snuggly socks, and heading back to bed with the electrical lead for my laptop, and there was a rush of adrenalin when I opened the folder where all last year's files were waiting. Prompt pages, wordcount spreadsheets.

I did try to tell myself that it was madness, total madness. I didn't even have an idea. I didn't even have a title. I didn't even know where to start. But I did start. So, at the end of day 4 of NaNoWriMo, I have one day's worth of writing done. I have a title. I have an idea that excited me, and I'm thinking the birthday present I want most on my 50th birthday (1st December - the day after NaNo ends) is a 50,000 word manuscript sitting on my desk. And only I can give that to me. And if that's what I want, then I think I should put the effort into doing it. So I'm going to try.

I have to suspend all judgements and considerations of quality or logic. I have to just write.

Am I doing the right thing? Am I mad? AAaaaagh!

(Oh.... and this should explain any and all absences, or cryptic comments or messages dropped in odd places. Please accept my apologies in advance for strange behaviours. I'm fairly sure I won't be myself for the remainder of November. Normal service will be resumed sometime in 2008!)