The Final Post

This will be my final post. 

Number 52. 

A year’s worth of weekly musings. How did this all begin, you may wonder.

In the earliest months of the first pandemic wave just over two years ago, I did something I could never have imagined having the luxury to do.

All around, the populace was in disbelief in the midst of a surreal reality – it seemed as though we were the cast of a poorly scripted, B-grade dystopian fiction with an incoherent plotline and multiple directors scrambling to make sense of it all. 

Many people had it tough during that time, struggling with the anxiety of uncertainty, or much worse. 

I could have panicked, and sometimes, I got very close to it – I was a single, middle-aged woman living in a tiny apartment, far away from family and unable to connect with friends. But, while being furloughed from work was just another bomb hurled at the foundations of my life, tossing everything that provided me with a sense of stability and security onto shaky ground, I made a choice to take advantage of a singular opportunity - time.  

Writing had been always been something I enjoyed and was good at when I was younger. As a little girl, I used to write stories, and when I was in high school, essays were never an onerous task. That this talent was never nurtured is an indictment of the education system I went through, and, if I pause on it for too long, a source of deep regret. 

But, given that the idea of exploring my writing skills as a possible source of future employment never occurred to me nor was it ever suggested, I ended up following an alternate creative path, which, admittedly, has given me a great deal of satisfaction over the years.

Then, about four years ago, I dated, very briefly, not one but two amateur writers – not at the same time (whadda ya take me for?!). They were both called David, and both had time-consuming day jobs but they were passionate enough about their hobby to really dedicate time to it whenever they could. In their own way, the Davids lit a spark in me, just not a romantic one (sorry Davids). It was a spark I hadn’t realised had been quashed and now it was reignited.

Inspired by the Davids, I started to purposefully turn my hand to the craft of prose again and found that it gave me a great deal of pleasure. It’s not like I hadn’t written anything at all over the decades since school, it’s just that I had never sat down with the specific intent to write. 

Writing is hard, it takes effort, energy, dedication and commitment, but most of all it takes time.

And that’s exactly what I got when, for fifteen weeks, I was at home with nowhere to go and nothing else to do. In that time, I decided to write a book – it was a children’s book inspired by my dear friend Maria-Rosa and her beautiful family. It was intended as a gift for them, but ultimately, I received the greatest return – a renewed passion for writing.

Everyone will tell you, if you want to be a writer, you have to write ALL THE TIME. Write as much as you can and about anything. Just like building up muscle, the more you write, the stronger you will become at it. I wanted to know if I really had the stamina to be a writer, and so, a year ago, was born this blog.

The problem is, writing this blog every week – while it has been enjoyable – has meant that I’ve written little else. So, now it’s time. I have built up my writing muscle, it’s honed and ready to be put to use on the kind of writing I really want to be doing, transforming the many stories I have bubbling away in my head into something real.

You are unlikely to ever see my name on the bookstore shelves, but that’s ok. In my mind, I don’t have to be published in order to be a writer. I am a writer. I hope you will agree.

Thank you to anyone who has ever taken a few minutes out of their day to read my ramblings, and to like and/or comment on them. You have been essential in keeping me at it. 

I hope you all find your passion too and give it your time. It’s totally worth it.

Mx