AND THE WORD IS...

I began this week lamenting the fact that in recent weeks the words seemed to have managed to escape me.

This was the weird thing... I was lamenting how difficult the word-wrangling had become when I realised that the words were their own salvation... By sitting down and rambling on about how the words weren't coming, well... the words began to come of their own accord and, after weeks of famine, suddenly I had two or three other pieces which I felt like writing and suddenly, if perhaps briefly, it all felt a little more like old times again.

Because, in just sitting there, idly tapping away, I found that I had a sudden surge of words and, not only that but I really wanted to write them again after weeks and weeks and weeks of wondering why I was still persevering with my nonsenses in the face of great ambivalence and a certain amount of apathy on my own part.

Time and again recently, I've looked at the words I've rattled out and wondered, in all honesty, why I bother. The subject matter hasn't exactly been inspiring and the content, whilst bordering on the banal in the style of its execution, has also been rather depressing.

Perhaps for obvious reasons, but, still...

Anyway, suddenly, on that sullen Sunday evening, I found that, for some inexplicable reason, I wanted to be doing this again and wanted to try and find the joy of words again which had, in recent times, become more like a hard slog up some muddy path on a day plagued by torrential downpours on which I'd decided that my waterproofs could be safely left in the car.

Suddenly the possibilities seemed endless and the excitement (or whatever else it is) had me in its grip again, and I wanted to share the simple joy of having the words tumble out of my mind again.

Now, I'd be the very first to admit that these outpourings from Lesser Blogfordshire have not, of late, been what they once were, and that they've been somewhat lacking the creative verve (or whatever else it was) that they might once have had, but they are, at the very least, still here, and you and I can hold each others hands as we skip merrily (or trudge miserably) across this wild meadow of words, and see where we end up, or, at the very least, find out if there is a stile (not, obviously, a style...) over that far-distant stone wall that we can escape across...

Of course, these postings may still yet turn out to be quite brief in comparison to my old rambling ways, and are more than likely to still be lacking in any obvious literary merit, but I've got my enthusiasm back and that, I suppose, might yet turn out to be a good thing...