Rough few weeks. I was on borrowed time for the last year, since that horrible month of May, 2015. Almost exactly one year later and my time was up once more. I am now back, with a new computer, and better than ever before. Or let’s hope nothing else goes wrong. After all, I have blog posts to write this weekend and so much more writing I need to complete.
Okay, so I am back after a bit of mid-week/mid-month computer woes.
(More to come on that soon.)
In the meantime…
For this week’s Fiction Friday I am sharing my latest guest post, where I write about my three favourite fictional characters and why they have impacted my life so much.
So check out my post at:
and for more of this writer/blogger’s work and for another worthy cause as well.
Kevin has recently put out, along with several other writers, a charity anthology:
A worthy cause, in my opinion.
Thanks Kevin, for hosting me, and good luck with the anthology.
I started this blog with an entry on my birthday and in that entry I talked about your diaries.
They are still upstairs, in the perfect chest I found for them, protection against any possible damage.
You wrote in those every night, for so many years. I tried to follow your example, many times, but always lost interest. I guess I didn’t believe I had enough to say.
I don’t feel that way anymore Grandma. In fact, it’s become quite a problem now, now that I have too much to say and I can’t stop myself.
I think what you had to say, all written by hand up in those books, I think that was all important stuff and I wish I could see to read it myself.
I remember how you used to read from your diaries, to me, at your kitchen table sometimes.
You sometimes even stumbled and had trouble reading your own writing, from so many years gone by.
You loved your ritual of writing in your diary at night. I loved that about you.
Now I don’t know if you would think it quite so good an idea, if you were still here, if you knew I wrote my blog for so many to see.
You were from a different time and you didn’t understand the Internet. From the few conversations we had about it, you didn’t seem all that impressed.
I have good reason to believe you would understand though, if you knew what it means to me to have a journal, a blog, a diary.
You knew I couldn’t write by hand anymore.
I would show you my blog, but you wouldn’t buy a computer, so I would have to print out my blogs for you to read.
I know you’d want me to. You’d ask when I saw you, if I had any more journals written since we saw each other last, because you loved reading my words.
I miss the unconditional love and acceptance you gave, that pure pride I heard in your voice when, on those rare occasions, I showed you something I’d written.
I write with you in mind, all the time, Grandma.
I want to keep a journal, a record of all the thoughts and all the experiences I’ve had since you’ve been gone, that I wish I could share with you.
I dedicate today’s stream of consciousness Saturday post to you.
This was my post for this week’s SoCS, with today’s prompt, “Jour”, from:
I didn’t feel very French today.
I thought of journal and immediately thought of my grandmother’s diaries, the ones that are my most treasured belongings, since she died ten years ago.