Unusually, I haven't been thinking a lot about writing.
Or, rather, I haven't been thinking a lot about writing the way I usually think about writing. a mixture of anxiety and guilt which does no one any good. Least of all the reader as I proffer the hastily cobbled together nonsense in front of them.
No siree Bob, for reasons too complex to go into, your humble correspondent has been thinking about writing more in terms of structure, word count, what precisely goes where. It's been an oddly liberating experience. To cut a long story short, I've been exploring the world of freelancing, which has led me down some odd paths and caused me to pick up some fairly arcane knowledge (go on, ask me about the likely direction of the price of silver). Not really as a money making exercise (spoiler alert, there isn't any), more as a thing to do of a morning when I've been woken up by the latest addition to the family at Coastal towers, and also just, y'know, to see.
It's odd writing in a highly prescribed manner, even odder writing about things you know NOTHING about. But there I've been, knocking out 800 word articles on various financial matters (not my forte, as my bank manager will attest), small pieces about blokes who draw pictures of trainers, health advice columns. It's insane. Write this, they say. Sure, I say, and I cobble something together, keep it simple, include the requisite number of bullet points and ping it away. Shortly afterwards, a few quid arrive.
This is not, I should be clear, a career move.But after so many years fretting about poems, sweating over how a sentence looks and feels, being told precisely what to do is oddly refreshing. I'll get back to fretting about poems in a bit, but I rather feel the creative juices need a break. As such, researching the right investment mix for retirement feels, strangely, like taking a break.
Or, rather, I haven't been thinking a lot about writing the way I usually think about writing. a mixture of anxiety and guilt which does no one any good. Least of all the reader as I proffer the hastily cobbled together nonsense in front of them.
No siree Bob, for reasons too complex to go into, your humble correspondent has been thinking about writing more in terms of structure, word count, what precisely goes where. It's been an oddly liberating experience. To cut a long story short, I've been exploring the world of freelancing, which has led me down some odd paths and caused me to pick up some fairly arcane knowledge (go on, ask me about the likely direction of the price of silver). Not really as a money making exercise (spoiler alert, there isn't any), more as a thing to do of a morning when I've been woken up by the latest addition to the family at Coastal towers, and also just, y'know, to see.
It's odd writing in a highly prescribed manner, even odder writing about things you know NOTHING about. But there I've been, knocking out 800 word articles on various financial matters (not my forte, as my bank manager will attest), small pieces about blokes who draw pictures of trainers, health advice columns. It's insane. Write this, they say. Sure, I say, and I cobble something together, keep it simple, include the requisite number of bullet points and ping it away. Shortly afterwards, a few quid arrive.
This is not, I should be clear, a career move.But after so many years fretting about poems, sweating over how a sentence looks and feels, being told precisely what to do is oddly refreshing. I'll get back to fretting about poems in a bit, but I rather feel the creative juices need a break. As such, researching the right investment mix for retirement feels, strangely, like taking a break.
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