September 29, 2016 in Dag

I’m not dancing – I hope my words are

I’m not a good dancer. In fact, it’s quite possible I’m the worst dancer in the world.

I have no sense of rhythm and no sense of time. When the music plays, I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing with my body. My arms go here and my legs go there and as for my head, it seems to be listening to a completely different song to the rest of me. You could say that when it comes to dancing, I have two left feet, except for the fact that I’m actually left-footed. Maybe you really should say I have two right feet.

Not that this stops me doing it, at least when the moment feels right, i.e. when there’s little chance of anybody else seeing it. I boogie in the kitchen, and I shake my bootie all around the house. In the privacy of my own home, I’m a regular cuddly dancing bear.

Of course, my dubious moves are not completely invisible. There are a small number of human who have had the experience of watching me dance – my family. I like to think it’s just one of the privileges of being related to me. I’m not sure they see it as such a privilege, particularly given that the most common reactions are for them to either cover their eyes or call out very loudly for me to stop right away. Not that this means much to me. The stronger the reaction I get, the more I want to keep bustin’ my moves.

Dancing might not be my greatest talent, but I like to think I have other skills. In particular, I like to think that I’m not too bad when it comes to putting a few words together. I’m pretty proud of my writing ability. They say everyone has a book in them, but not everybody actually goes ahead and writes one. And then goes on to write another one, and another one again. Not that I take my writing skills for granted – I’m always looking to make myself better.

I like to think my words burst off the page. I like to think they’re full of life and verve. I like to think that – dare I say it – I can get my words to dance. Sometimes they boogie and sometimes they foxtrot and sometimes they slowly waltz. But always, there some sense of rhythm and movement, filling my stories with colour and energy.

So there you have it. Even though I’m not much good as a dancer, and suspect I never will be, I hope that the words in my stories do all my dancing for me.


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