Did I say this updates infrequently?

Well, it's true.

More time passes.

It creeps by and I achieve nothing. Oh so fun.

Hanging out for the end of the year, and the end of uni.

The passing of time.

Well. Some time has passed.

Sadly, that's about all that's happened. I did some uni, got sick, stayed sick, which brings us to now.

Current future plans: getting better, catching up uni, doing some writing!

Completed! (though not yet delivered)

This exciting and rather belated update is to declare that for once, I came in on deadline. On a self-set (basically) creative deadline. One birthday present story completed before said birthday. Unfortunately, various factors conspired to mean that it still hasn't been actually delivered. But at least it is written. : )

Birthday presents.

If you decide to write someone a story for their birthday, try to know exactly when said birthday is. It's also best not to give them a novel, not unless you are slightly more prepared when it comes to birthdays than I am. Six weeks will not leave you enough time. But back to the point. Check the date, before you plan your schedule. It is inconvenient for a March deadline to suddenly become a February deadline in the middle of January. Trust me.

Infrequency.

Well, I'm living up to my title-declared infrequency. Many other things have also been infrequent in the past month. My writing, best intentions aside, has lapsed. Christmas and work had a justifiable claim on my attention, but they cannot excuse the amount of time spent not-doing. Not-doing fills in far more of my time than is healthy.

So with this in mind, I will pretend I do not know the meaning of the words "Heroes 5" and take myself to bed, and plan to tomorrow discover the meanings of the words "self discipline" and "determination".

Beginnings

I stare at an empty post - so much like an empty page - and wonder. What will be here? What words will fill this space?

But as I wonder, I type, and my fingers tap out letters, words, sentences, and the space begins to fill.

And so it goes. Thoughts are not thought but typed, and when I come back to myself the page is filled with surprises. The mystery of the unknown ending made all the more curious for surely, surely, it must be known.

...my fingers carry me away, as is so often the case. They type of not they do not know, of what I cannot even dream, and yet they do not seem to care. They spin my own thoughts into a story, and begin to tell of she who is more interesting than me.

For it is not true that I trance when I write, or that I wake to words unknown. I am always aware, always here. But I am always surprised. I watch my fingers typing and see the words on the screen, and I am surprised. Often because I know where the story is meant to be going, but the keys on the keyboard conspire with my characters and suddenly we head off on an unexpected tangent.

...how closely my writing resembles my life. I myself have just been off on an unexpected diversion, a walk beneath the streetlights. And because I like the path less travelled, it took an hour and half, and we had to back track the last 30 minutes. My feet hurt now, and my arms are cold, but it was worth it. I just hope my grandmother feels the same way.