A story I didn’t want to tell. Or didn’t intend to tell. I have a lot more work to do, a lot more thinking to do, before I can start the writing. So, yes, here I am write in the thick of it, having decided to start, having started, nothing holding me back and yet discovering that I don’t know how to tell the story. Who is the narrator? Or narrators. Perhaps all the characters should tell their side of it. It seems somehow wrong that the person telling it is not directly involved but isn’t that always the case? Or maybe I should tell another story en attendant. About a girl who wanted to sing. Or something else or someone else. The story hasn’t been chosen yet. Once again, I lay myself down to the power of the Muses and lay my fingers on the keyboard and open my mind and allow them to decide what they want to say through me. Why was I born? Why did I fall in love with words, with books, with music? Who am I? or as Margeurite Duras put it, what would I write if I were to write? Not the story that has been blocking the entrance to my cave for so long. Not that one, that I have been telling everybody I’m writing but I have only been thinking about. Time flies whether you use it or not. You know you will make progress if you force yourself to produce words. And yet you did that before and all it got you was a trunk full of notebooks. You refuse to admit that you must choose the destination. If you want the car to drive you to a place of its choice then you will have no right to complain about where you are or about being lost. You are older now, surely mature? Wiser, yes.

Pouring. Just pour on the paint and then tilt the surface. Looks strangely like chagreen. Verdigris. One part of me wants to write freely and allow the words to tumble out and another part of me believes that words that come out fast can only be senseless. Every small step into existence requires the breaking of inner barriers. Did I ever even ask myself if I want to make sense? I thought I wanted to find out who I am, explore my inner self, introduce it to the outside world, allow the words to tell me a story I do not know, surprise and entertain me. All and none of the above.