The parcel has still not arrived, and it has been confirmed that it did contain chocolate, and irreplaceable things. My mum posted it to me from Lancaster, and she included a letter, and some leaves from her walk. If they are lost, I can never have them. That troubles me.
I have been reading a few peoples' blogs who are also on the course, it was reassuring in some ways, as I think all of us are to some extent experiencing shifts in our perceptions of our writing. I used to think of myself, in part due to what others said to me, that I was good at writing. Now I really don't know. I'm not even sure I can write this blog very well, I don't think I have found truly my 'voice' yet. I try and write what is true, how I see things, but then I read other work, and that terrible envy sometimes creeps in, I wish I could have written like that. I felt quite pleased with a piece I had written today, but then with just one comment, I felt sunk, and it was no good. Though I know rationally, that that is unfair to the person who made the comment, and actually they were quite right about the point they made. This is hard. My confidence feels destroyed at times. I need more ambition, and to be more active, somehow though I drift sometimes, too many other things happen and want to be done. Perhaps what needs to happen is a plan, some scribbles and drawings on paper, space and time to think without letting the time now run away.
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