For someone who loves the English language and the written word, those words can sometimes be so elusive. For those who enjoy my little musings I’m sure my silence hasn’t completely gone unnoticed. I say this, well aware that a few of you have actually reached out to me asking why I’m not blogging, newslettering and Tweeting so much. An update is well past due, and yet every time I sit down to write I find myself unable to put thoughts to paper.
It’s official: I have writer’s block.
But why? It’s not like I live a life that doesn’t lend itself to telling stories. Over the last year I have been so incredibly lucky to have enough adventures to fill an entire book. I have a list of things to write about pages long, and yet I find myself staring blankly at the titles I’ve written and can’t flesh out.
I should be regaling you with tales of my Italian romance, my night of debauchery with friends in a breathtaking suite, an exquisite night seeing Romeo and Juliet at the Royal Opera House… at the very least I should be updating my availability!
It’s funny how the mind works. If you follow me on Twitter you’ll have seen I briefly showed my poor dog in the cone of shame. He’s been a little unwell for some time and I find I have very little room in my head to focus on much more than him. It becomes tricky, even in writing this, to admit I’ve been struggling. I don’t want to break the fantasy, but the reality is I am human. Something precious to me is hurting, and so I am hurting. And when I am feeling this way, well inspiration isn’t exactly easy to come by.
I realise this probably isn’t the kind of post you’re accustomed to reading on an independent escort’s blog. But hey, I do say I'm a girlfriend experience specialist, and what would a GFE be without a little moan every now and then… (quick disclaimer for tongue-in-cheekness right here).
I was recently very kindly gifted a poetry anthology: A Poem For Every Night Of The Year. It’s all the more special because the thought behind it was to help me in my search for inspiration. It was poetry that first started my love affair with writing, and I have no doubt that it will be poetry that rekindles that flame. So I will do my due diligence and read a poem every night. In search of inspiration.
And for the meantime, I shall just settle for this hodge podge of words, splurged directly from the chaos in my brain onto the tip tap of my keyboard. Because at last, at long, long last, there are words. They’re not necessarily good words, I'm still not entirely convinced that this little piece is achieving much. But they do at least tell a story. A story of a girl, who is human, isn't always succeeding but is optimistic. A story of a girl who is trying. A girl who might finally be finding some inspiration.
A Poem For 28 February: Thaw by Edward Thomas
Over the land freckled with snow half-thawed
The speculating rooks at their nest cawed
And saw from elm-tops, delicate as flower of grass,
What we below could not see, Winter pass
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