While indulging in a wash-dry-iron bedlinen marathon I find myself becoming a little maudlin. Probably something to do with ironing duvet covers while suffering the indigestiony result of eating 6 cookies this morning but nonetheless ...
I always used to suffer post-Christmas blues but in recent years thought I'd got over it. I don't think it's blues now exactly anyway: I have far too much to enjoy in my life and stuff to anticipate. It's more a sense of realism: accepting that maybe 'Liz is a writer' was just a phase in my life. I'm never going to be a famous author.
There was a period in my life when 'it' was happening for me. Opportunities to write articles and even non-fiction books were coming along easily and regularly. They happened to me rather than me struggling to achieve anything. Now, well, now I blog, I write stuff for prison and Zac's, and I even get paid for the occasional online article.
I love what I write - I mean I love the opportunities and enjoy writing these things, and I know they have their own intrinsic value - and, importantly, that they have sometimes meant a lot to others as well.
I couldn't not blog; my head would surely explode. And the other stuff I write helps me to study and understand the bible better too. But ... I see my novel lying face down on my desk. I'd printed it out to send to a publisher but have been waiting because of a change of editor. GrandDaughter has used pages of it to scribble on. I don't mind that - it's easily printed again - it's just whether there is really any point.
Oh, don't mind me, old gloomyguts! I'll finish ironing soon and my tummy will stop aching and I'll pick myself up and start again.
Maybe I'll go and watch one of the dvds I had for Christmas (most of which, incidentally, were children's cartoons ...)
P.S. I shall cheer myself up by reminding myself that at least I'm not like my Mother-in-law who would have the beds stripped, sheets in the wash and sometimes on the line before we'd even left the premises after staying with them.