The creativity of writing

I give thanks for my absolutest favouritest thing right now...which is sleep! Consciousness currently has such a nightmarish quality, even bad dreams are better than awake. I give thanks that pain and inactivity is exhausting. I give thanks my dreams were OK.

I give thanks for Chistine telling me she'd seen snowdrops out. What a lovely thought! For some documentaries about living on city streets to remind me how lucky I am even if I can't see snowdrops... I am so bored with watching TV, so it was good to remember this is a privileged state!

I give thanks though I cannot lie (apart from down), I'm skilled at creativity with truth. This is useful when you write a gratitude blog and are not feeling very grateful. And that is the point of keeping keeping it going after all. I hear others speak so casually of the treasures they possess - maybe physical health or loving relationships or lovely homes and gardens, of solvency, security, mobility, opportunity, purpose, making plans...maybe the whole damn kit and caboodle! I give thanks for their good fortune, and that they may live quite unaware that sometimes these comforts can be lost, or maybe never found. This is about counting the joys they might not think even count.

I've not done much of the other sort of creative writing lately though I found an unfinished poem yesterday and tinkered with a line or two, so maybe it's still in me somewhere. I give thanks for thinking that would be nice...and for not setting too much store by the idea in case it turns out not to be.

This morning a long forgotten brief short story from many years ago popped into my head however. I couldn't recall anything but possibly the title (it turned out not!), the premise and the lead character's name which everyone said was odd except Jared who'd given a similar character the same one! It's not on this laptop which means as a digital document it may be lost but I have a store of slightly musty paper printouts and found a little pile while I made my cup of tea. At first it was almost as if I'd opened the wrong folder as the words on the top page I didn't remember at all. Who on earth were Harry and Tilly? Another even more forgotten story - so forgotten that when I read it it was as if for the first time, and at the end was quite surprised and laughed out loud thinking 'Hey! That's pretty good!' For someone feeling as many forms of failure as I do now the fact my writing could create a moment of joy like that is a lot to be grateful for! According to my horoscope this is a time when I'm likely to experience others' appreciation of my unique qualities... Yes, I can see that's highly likely (not!) but I guess appreciating them myself is better than not at all.

Anyway, I give thanks after a very long very revealing trawl through some very old emails I found the story I first thought of in an attachment, so I thought I'd share it here in hopes it might raise a smile or two elsewhere - with the usual fictional disclaimers of course!

Duplicity

There was no doubting that Colin preferred men. The unpredictable emotional outbursts of women unsettled his composure and youthful experiences taught him to eschew the charms of their softly curvaceous flesh.

Despite a predatory nature he had enjoyed several years’ comfortable liaison with an older gentleman who demanded little more than his handsome presence about the place and turned a tolerant eye to occasional unexplained absences.

Now, rather awkwardly, he found himself drawn to a new young neighbour. This man had misguidedly acquired himself a wife and offspring but the admiration was obviously mutual. In fact it was he who had initiated things whistling softly over the garden fence to attract Colin’s attention as he sunned his still sleek body on the decking.

Colin had visited him more than once since then for some brief but sensuous pleasures. They had to be careful. The wife was suspicious and made it clear she believed his kind a health hazard to her brood.

Things came to a head one sultry summer’s evening when she arrived home to find Colin stretched out on the marital bed while her spouse took a much needed shower. He leapt to his feet but the screeching woman blocked the doorway and survival instinct rather than reason inspired him to make for the open window and the conservatory roof below.

It was an inelegant scrambling descent, Colin was not as agile as once he had been.

On safety’s side of the fence he paused. His companion was home and he needed a moment to restore his nonchalance before he entered the house. He sat on the decking and cleaned behind his ears with a paw, smoothing the fur on his flanks with his tongue before sauntering up to his six inch door.