I like to use this blog to reflect on all the wonderful qualities that make me the strange and delightful person that I am. And one of those qualities, possibly one of my most defining qualities, is my fussiness.
Everybody knows the story of the little red engine. How it gets to the bottom of a big hill and it’s not sure whether it can climb it or not. But it keeps on saying, ‘I think I can, I think I can,’ and in the end it manages to get to the top.
Over the last few weeks I’ve done grumpy posts and I’ve done self-deprecating posts. Now, in order to demonstrate that as a writer I’m fully capable of displaying a broad range of emotions, I’m going to settle on a new one today. I’m going to get all soppy and sentimental.
I write fantasy. I make stuff up. I use my imagination to invent strange new worlds where extraordinary things happen.
Last week, I wrote a post about how I’m terrible at lying. This week, I thought I should continue on the same line, i.e. things I’m bad at. Come to think of it, I reckon if I kept going on this theme, I’d have enough posts to last for the next three years. But it could start to get a little soul-destroying, so I may keep a lid on it for now.