Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Think and Grow Lazy

Yesterday I started a new notebook. The notebook was a Christmas gift from one of my brothers ten years ago. Ten years ago I made a note to myself on the front page which reads like this:

Between you and me, I have always fancied myself a writer, an inspirer of hearts. This despite the fact I cannot spell.

My cheeks coloured as I read this wee note from my younger self. The original contains a large number of spelling mistakes, which gives validity to one of the notes assertions. But the first part, the bit about being a writer, that was a complete fabrication.

As far as I can recall I hadn’t done any writing ten years ago. I didn’t even think about writing. Apparently I was too busy deluding myself. In fact it was a good five years before I made my first attempt at writing a short-story.

My brush with ‘The Ghost of Christmas Past’ made me wonder what else I’ve been kidding myself about: that I might be a published author one day? Is this something I have been telling myself which, in another ten years’ time, I will have done nothing to achieve?

Ah, and if I had grabbed a pen and paper ten years ago - started to learn how to write - where would I be now?

I can only wonder.

Sigmund Freud said that:

“Being entirely honest with oneself is a good exercise.”

This is advice I intend to take. At the very least it will save me from future encounters with a smug former self.

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