Baby Steps?!

On Monday, I took my first bus journey with the intention to loosen up my creative muscles. It was a bit strange being back on the bus. In the 2 and a half years since I last journeyed, First have bought new buses and I had to re-arrange myself several times before I found a seat I liked. Keeping me company was Linkin Park. Brain set to neutral I just watched. There are quite few changes on the route. Businesses which have gone to the wall. Premises sitting empty and gathering dust. But there are lots of construction sites being done by contractors I know from my ground source heat pump days.

The pedestrians are still butt-stupid. Darting across the road when the light turns green, crossing on the bus' green and glaring when the driver bips his horn. Bus vs pedestrian has only one outcome: splat. I was waiting for a meeting and struck up a pleasant conversation with the receptionist and an other waiting bloke. The receptionist was of a certain age and went on and on about the Green Cross Code and how it's no longer taught. The problem with that, is that most of the stupid pedestrians were her age and older. Quite frankly, if I was old and knackered I would wait for the little green man before trying to get across a busy 4 lane junction. I wouldn't haul my arthritic bones into the path of a double decker bus. With that much weight and momentum, they don't stop like cars.

I would have blogged more about it but life got very busy and my energy levels have crashed again.

Yesterday, I took my car out for a run to see Dave. Bless him. He does look a shadow of his former self. He's lost weight and looks ever so pale. We had coffee and mince pies and when I needed a smoke, he showed me his garden. Even in winter it looks stunning. I'm so going to wangle an invite for the summer. We talked for a while longer and then it was clear, he'd had enough. I took myself off and considered the road ahead. To the left I could just see a national speed limit sign on a one-track road, to the right would take me back the way I came, to Norwich.

I turned left and lost myself in rural South Norfolk. It was beautiful. There is something about South Norfolk that I really love. When I was employed at the council there, I would often drive around my patch on weekends or in the middle of the night. Amazing that we have so much space and green 10 minutes out of the city. As I drove a story came to me. I made my way home and gave it some space.

It's a peculiar state of mind. One part of my brain is so very focused on the story, finding the characters, the words, the conflicts; the other deals with buying bacon from the butcher, crossing the road, reasuring Boy I'm well. And then I sat down and wrote. I wrote from 1.30 to 5 pm. In that time I produced 3, 127 words. My first short story in 3 years. I have written a couple of poems and about 3 or 4 segments of prose, but this was the first proper short story I've written since my degree. I can't judge how good, bad or indifferent it is yet. This is just the first outpouring. What comes now is the hard slog. It needs editing; to get it into the shape I have in my head. This is the cruicial part. In many ways the writing is the easy part, it's literary diahorreah. What comes now is staying with the story, going over each and every word to ensure every sentence conveys my intention. This is the hard work.

I feel properly myself now. My creativity wasn't lost, it hadn't withered. It just needed some space.