Time’s whizzing by and I’m dizzy trying to keep up with everything – including this blog. I’ve not even told my friends about my site yet and a month’s gone by already. Taking too much on does that to a person. In my day job I work as an administrator for a Methodist Circuit, and I’m currently collating info for the next preaching plan which covers December 2012 to February 2013. NEXT YEAR ALREADY! Working and thinking in advance like this feels like I’ve already lived the time before it actually arrives. Christmas will be over and done with by the time it gets here.
Two weeks back I stood in a queue waiting for the number 13 bus to take me to where I thought I wanted to go. There were 13 people in front of me and 13 people behind me. Queues are orderly and a natural state of things. It sometimes helps if you have a defined surname in the order of things as it determines where you stand. I had a surname beginning with S when I was very young so was used to waiting in queues. Then I was adopted and became an L which was in-between waiting and attaining. Now that I’m married to an F you’d think I had it made. But when the bus arrived it said NOT IN SERVICE. The driver didn’t know where he had come from or where he was going.
I love writing because of its possibilities. As a writer, I can reunite and reconcile my family as characters in my fiction and enable a happy conclusion to our lives. But sometimes when I write I hate it – especially when a memory pops in my head and I’m not expecting it. It’s like a small regret piercing my heart. A realization that a wrong decision has set someone up for an ending no-one wants.
We are what we think we are. I think it was Margaret Thatcher who said that once. She said that our thoughts become words that become actions. Our actions become habits. Habits form our character. I think that’s why she reached that conclusion of the statement: we are what we think we are. I thought about this when I pulled all the flowers out of a garden in a story I was writing last week. It was to stop my father picking them for his secret love. Then I thought that at the end of his life a big sin could count against him in the same way as a small sin because the judgement will probably be the same. A little white lie is still a lie when all’s said and done.
It must be true then.
All Text Copyright © Julie M. Fairweather, 2012.