Binge Writing is a Thing

My last post got me thinking about the way I have always written - going for a long time without writing and the POP! Something clicks in my head and I feel compelled to write something or anything.

It's a bit like binging, I thought. Then I thought about the other things I binge at.
I must confess, I am a bit of a binge eater, hence my roundish kind of shape, well, mostly hence. I also binge tidy, clean, organise and fold laundry, off the top of my head. (I also binge studied, which I do not recommend.)

So I googled it, as you do, a lo and behold, binge writing is a Thing.

A thing that other writers write about. Imagine my relief when I discovered that I was not unique in my approach to writing. Then I thought, of course you silly woman. There is nothing new under the sun.

There is no catch-all method to writing and if I had thought about it before, which I clearly did not, I would have realised the the x number of words per day method was not very Irissy and I should not have felt bad about not being able to do it, which I obviously did.

So now that I have stumbled upon this plain and obvious truth, I am going to embrace my bingey nature (writing-wise) and go with it, cos it's basically the only way I can roll and the only way I will ever get any real writing done.

It's either that or spend even more time feeling bad about not being consistent, which is just dumb.

So, come binge with me, it'll be fun.

I am a Writer. I Must Write

It's 10pm on a Wednesday night. I'm lying in bed with a baby in the cot next to me and a toddler snoring in the bed with me. Mr C. is still downstairs doing his thing.

I don't really know why I'm writing, especially since I'm doing it on my phone, which is not my favourite medium.

Having said that, lately I have felt the pull to write more and more. I used to love writing. I could spend hours on it and yet, in recent years, I have let my writing fall by the wayside, to the chagrin of my husband and my mother.

My excuse was that I felt uninspired or had no story ideas. I would say I had the skill to write but I not a talent for story telling so I was just kidding myself that I would ever get a book written, let alone published. In short, I gave up on myself.

But I just want to write now. Right now.
Just random stuff. I keep wandering how to work all this out in my blog and whether I should just start  new one. I always feel like becomingiris is not the right place for experimental writing work, but I have to start somewhere.

I feel all lost and foggy in my little rut; even a little bit paralysed by my own over-thinking.

I remember getting a flash of an idea, back in the day, and sitting down to write. The weekend would disappear and the words would seem to write themselves. Once the first sentence was done, the rest would just flow. But that was a decade ago.

Wow. A decade. It's quite amazing how time can just slip away from you when you aren't paying attention. When you are going through stuff and you're counting moments, years can pass before you manage to look up and take a breath.

Maybe it's time I looked up, took a breath and stopped sleepwalking through my life. My kids will thank me for it, not to mention my husband.

I may start with some writing prompts. I like that idea.

Let's see what happens next.

She is Frickin' Cute and I Adore her

On the 27th of April, by Caesarean section, my sweet little Imogen Enye was born.
She weighed 3.160kg and has filled our lives with even more love.

Liora loves her sister, despite having had a bit of an adjustment and going through a bit of a tough time with being two going on three.

As I said in my previous post, I struggled with pregnancy, but I am glad to say that our little addition, which has completed our family, is incredibly cute.

At three months, she laughs and smiles and plays with her doll and her dragon fly and her "O" ball, shaking it so it will rattle. She is cute and cuddly and bright as a button (a really shiny one).

There are challenges and difficulties, not least of which being Imogen's ability to shred ear drums with her screams; a talent which she exercises often since she has a combination of reflux and colic. 

The colic means that every night, like clockwork, at around eight pm or thereabouts, She screams like a B-grade horror actress.

Infacol helps. Gaviscon helps. Having cut out all dairy helps.

She has gone through degrees of suffering. She started screaming for hours on end, then I cut out dairy and started her on her regime of "meds". She got somewhat better; much better, in fact. To the point that I thought she had adjusted enough to reintroduce some dairy from time to time. Then she got sick and had to go on antibiotics for a week. I think that had an impact on her gut bacteria and colic levels. So now it's a nightly battle and challenge to find the quickest, most efficient way to soothe her poor little tummy so she doesn't suffer so terribly (and deafen us and our long-suffering, very understanding neighbours - who incidentally, have adopted our cat, Wednesday. She is boycotting us at the moment).

We have also had a heatwave, a really long and uncomfortable heatwave that neither me nor my kids are particularly loving.

Mr C hates it too. A lot.

All in all, my girls, my Team Awesome Gorgeous give me more joy than I could ever have imagined (and more stress, anxiety, frustration, and sleeplessness). The pangs of guilt when I look at my beauty collection or think of my blog have gradually lessened, but my desire to write is starting to resurface. I am going to go on a bit of a tangent with this blog and just write about random stuff for a while and see how it feels.

Read it.
Don't read it.
I don't mind.