Trumpets & Snowballs

{ Blogging on the run.} Cafe: 'The Vineyard Deli' in Kenridge just a stone's throw from Layla's lovely little playschool. Blackest, luxuriously bitter Lavazza, and a new novel: 'The Enchantress of Florence' by Salman Rushdie. (I'm ashamed to admit this, but I'm a Rushdie-virgin... And reading is SUCH a rare treat for me, so I may as well read something rich in poetry and makes-one-think beauty.) However, getting time to write is just as rare a jewel, so I've split my little hour of solitude into 2 half-hour pockets. Reading? Tick. Writing? In progress.

This morning, I hurried off to Tygerberg Hospital's Dental Clinic --- in particular, the paediatric ward. With a boot full of toys and books Layla's outgrown, I felt elationjoygratitudewonder. And perhaps a small pat on my back from myself. It's unavoidable, I suppose, that giving to others will make one feel good about oneself. But still, feeling good about it made me feel a twinge of embarrassment. The Bible's instructions surrounding giving to others says we should keep it from others. That no trumpets be blown. (Guess I've gone and blown that commandment *no pun intended*!!) But still, I feel that just SOMETIMES, hearing about how the compassionate service and generous giving of others changes the lives of the broken, helpless and hopeless, is important. In fact, I'll go so far as to say it is critically important. Loving goodness is humanity's core function. Society only BENEFITS from loving goodness --- that is: courage, joy, pursuing peace, compassion, active kindness, empathy, humility and honesty. Gratitude for what one has, and lovingly generous 'giving' to others generates more gratitude and more generosity. A reverse snow-ball effect, if you will. (The flip-side of this is that dishonesty, greed and self-pity generates snowballs too...) But still, for what it's worth: when you see or hear about the love of others in action, jump in and get giving! Phone that person or organisation to see how you can get involved, be it money (R10 or zillions, time: an hour a month or more if you can, recycling clothes/toys/books...) Perhaps we can't save the world all on our ownsome, but we can change just one life -- if only for a moment. (*wink* Whatcha waitin' for?)
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On Writing

After my file was 'cleared' by Protocol Education last week, I was so hoping to be able to work every day this week: but, hell's bells, nothing's happened so far today. So while subconsciously I'm holding thumbs for a call from them, I've been working steadily at my writing - and this doesn't just mean the actual process of putting words down, but the checking of my blog stats, readership levels, what forms of publicity are working etc. It also means hunting for the right kind of places on which to have my blog listed, and also being a regular participant in forums on these sites... (sigh) A lot of elbow grease and wrist-strain and screen glare to get more and more people reading what I write.
It's a strange thing, this, to be a writer. Some days I feel like all I do is pontificate and sprout general bull**** about me, me and more of me. But then on other days, I feel like if I don't write about a certain story, I'll just explode with NOT sharing it! Some days are filled with dark, ugly doubts which eat away at my self-confidence when I wonder what everyone thinks when they get a "Lisa Has Updated Her Blog" email in their inbox. Is it a case of, "Oh noooo!!! Not AGAIN!" or something else? I subscribe to a fair number of blogs - and must admit that I am not a regular reader as much as one that reads when she has time. I suspect that's the case for almost everyone, hey?
Though I've bitched and moaned about not having any work since I arrived in the UK, it has been a lifechanging time of reflection and discovery for me: I am a writer almost more than I am an artist! And yes, I studied art at university and I've been calling myself an artist since I can remember - but I've learned that writing is the skin in which I feel the most comfortable - and the work is so much more satisfying than the art EVER was... I write every single day - and it feels like good, hard labour to me! Yet with my art and drawing, it was always this fight inside me to get anything out...
OK. Enough about that! Time to get some more of that paint scraped off the old, delicate carvings on the wardrobe for Layla Rose's nursery before heading off into the bleak darkness of the late afternoon to pick Craig up from school...