On a bed of broken promises
Sorry, I’m very reflective
I made you a promise last week. I am about to break that promise. Forgive me, dearest reader. I trudge through the waves of self deprecation that wash over me and here I am. But… This will now be one of the last newsletters I shall write for this year. As we ease into the crux of festivities, I am feeling reflective. So, I am going to rain check on that new exciting idea I said I would have you this week and try again for next Thursday. I’m also thinking of doing a round-up of my favourite newsletters from the year the Thursday after that. Plenty for you to get stuck into as you lounge around the house wearing pyjamas and eating leftovers in the no man’s land between Christmas Day and New Year. Now I’ve said it, I shall push myself this tiny little bit more, seeing out 2023 and delivering for you.
For the past (nearly) a year I have been posting weekly, or twice weekly, or nearly weekly. One of the main reasons I started writing on Substack was for consistency. On that front, I feel like I have surpassed my own expectations with flying colours. I’ve scheduled posts weeks in advance when on holiday. Walked around with notebooks and pens in my bags, poised to write when inspiration strikes. In so many ways I can see just how my writing has improved, especially the overall tone and style. I’ve tried to create a distinctive voice in my work and Substack has been so helpful for that. Reading back my own writing, trying to imagine others reading it themselves and knowing it was me who wrote it.
Since getting made redundant from my job at the end of October it’s been tough to get my mind to work in the way I’ve wanted it to. Without work, I feel like I’ve just lacked a degree of mental stimulation to think of anything new to write about. My world feels a little smaller, my day-to-day a little more closed off. Less travelling, less conversations, a little bit less of everything. I’ve felt guilty for not using every waking ounce of the last 2 months to write and delve into my greatest passion with enthusiasm and gratitude for being given the gift of time. Creativity strikes when it wants. Not for love, nor money, nor sheer willpower will anything change that. The stars have not aligned in the way I’ve hoped they would. I’ve found it extremely hard to have unwavering faith in myself and my writing. Feeling increasingly self-conscious about everything I share. No bueno.
I have persevered. I have continued to show up, even when I’ve felt certain my best is not good enough. Through all else, I am trying. I am not giving up. I owe it to myself; we all do. Life is fucking short. Do more of the thing you love the most. Next week I shall write a brand new shiny newsletter for you and in 2024 I shall be in hot pursuit of every creative influence I can find. I shall write, and write, and write.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers
By Emily Dickinson
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.