Thursday, January 28, 2016

So where am I then?

I think that I will delete this blog, or at least shelve it (unpublish it or whatever happens when you temporarily disable the thing) ... I've been feeling like this for a long time now, as there isn't really any purpose to this blog anymore.  I don't think anybody is reading it and if they are, they certainly aren't commenting.  And therefore that's the reason I suppose.
So this is the last postie for a while or forever, we'll see how the wind blows.

I am devoting a lot more time to painting these past few weeks than I am to writing - even though I have the mantra, 'write something every day - just say it', posted on the wall above my laptop screen - it's not working for me though!   Yeah, okay, I DO write but mostly unintelligible psychobabble in my car when I'm waiting outside schools to pick up kids to take home again.   And when I get to the laptop to add to the story/stories that are saved there, I spend a couple of hours dabbling about, tidying up paragraphs, making projects for research and not much else.  I might write a really good bit - maybe even a few thousand words of the good bit - but then I leave it alone and forget about it.  It's not grabbing  me.

That's not the case with painting.  I can never just 'leave it alone to stew' kinda thing.  It has to be finished, I have a definite goal, a vision, an emotion, there is something there that I 'want to get out' and I won't stop until I get it out.  That's drive, that's passion, that's what is called a vocation.  Writing is a sideline, always was and that's why I think I felt such a fraud when I was so very successful at it back in the Nineties.  I really was - there was fame there, it was happening, I was getting 'a name', getting recognised.     But it was like I was ashamed to say I was a writer, in case someone stood up and said, 'But hang on a bit, she only does it in her spare time, she's not the real deal, she's not a professional writer, where's her degree and why are you paying her for Chrissake?!'   And that's why I quit it, that's why I stopped writing for Southern Africa's largest daily newspaper.  It was as though I was so sure that someone was going to come along one day and call me out as a sham and I wouldn't know what to say in response because that's how I felt myself!


  1. Dear Carrot.

    You ARE a writer. You ARE a painter. You ARE an artist. If this had been written by me I feel you would prob kick my ass. Who cares for the sheep!!!!! There is nothing more special to me than your art on my wall. Hung where everyone that comes into my house can see. The only person that counts is you. You need to believe. Like the rest of us do. Love you and see you on the weekend. Where I may literally fucking kick your ass ;)

  2. Alright then! Wow, I was dumbfounded when I read this last night - but couldn't post a reply from my phone for some reason. Thanks very much for all your support, you know it means a hell of a lot to me. So onward and upward then hey? :)