The End

I began writing a novel on 1st April 2020, and tonight, at 11pm, I typed the last two words – The End.

What a journey it has been. What started as a love story, turned into something quite different.

I competed the novel in 77,234 words, 34 chapters and a possible sequel on the cards.

I guess the most important thing for me whilst writing this novel was a loose plan, and a refusal to follow a process. I’m not one for forcing myself to write when I’m not feeling it, or building the writing muscle as I’ve heard it called. I don’t have a method, I’m prone to procrastinating, and I only write when it brings me pleasure.

I feel a sense of not quite knowing how to feel right now. Maybe tomorrow that’ll become clearer, but for now, I’m satisfied.

Procrastination published by The Ogilvie

Today my poem Procrastination was published by The Ogilvie – (Click on the link to see it live).

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I wrote this poem on a day when I was supposed to be writing an academic essay. Clearly my mind wasn’t on the job.

Procrastination

Cardboard daylight
Prods me through vertical blinds.
I am slumped on an un-reclining recliner with
warm-breath-blowback burning my cheeks,

my toes, curl like a fist on the carpet, as cold as the kitchen tiles.
I cannot move.
There is a pork and Apple loaf
Baking in the oven
Two hours too soon
And a laptop on standby.

I am waiting
I have been waiting for years
For that phone-call, that chance
But it will not come
Not in this bitter cold dark
Afternoon. Not in this room.

I need to put the light on
But I won’t,
The dogs will think they
Can go out to play and I can’t bare the dampness, the half night day,
That is turning all the Orange brick brown.

I am writing, or at least I am typing, anything except
What I ought to write. But I will wait a wee bit longer. Until I am
Kicked up the arse by the artificial light of night, when the start of time begins to run out.
It is going to be a late one.
Writing by light-bulb and shaded by the un-dusted cobwebs.

©Eilidh G Clark