Once again I appear to be going through a slump where I feel as if I have nothing to say that is actually worth sharing, although in all fairness nothing I ever have to say is actually worth sharing, but that does not stop me from sharing it. When I look back at the last 20 odd years of my life one of the few things that has remained a constant within myself is my desire to be a writer. Essentially ever since I have been able to read, with any degree of skill, I have coveted and wanted for myself the ability to take what is on my mind/in my imagination, whether fact or fiction, and put that onto paper in an accurate and compelling manor. I am aware that, to a certain degree, I do actually possess this ability, however I also know that whatever level of ability I do possess is no more, or no less, than that of the vast majority of people. Unlike the vast majority I have actually had some of my writings puplished, although admittedly only in an anthology of short stories and poems by amateur writers and then I wasn’t even paid for my efforts. One of my stories and a short poem I wrote as a teenager were included as the prize in a competition I entered in my early twenties. Unfortunately since that time I have found that my ability to transfer what I see in my minds eye in to words and on to paper has waned somewhat and with that I find myself writing less and less, what I do write I no longer find enjoyable to read. I am not entirely sure whether this is because I continue to write as I did as a teenager but my tastes in literature and what I chose to read have matured or what I write now is no longer as compelling or interesting as it was when I was younger. The only thing I can be sure about is that I still wish to be a writer, but the older I get the more this seems like a dream and the less likely it is to actually happen. Anyway my friends with that said I shall bid you all a fond good night…
