Inspiration. Hits like a hangover

My bit of whimsy at the start of this year was to think about creating things in my life that I had often 'wished' for but hadn't gotten around to actively engaging with. One of these is my desire to 'be' a writer. or more accurately, to 'do' writing.
I have loved writing for as long as I can remember however as writers go I don't have much to show for the practice of my craft past the boxes of journals, some half hearted blogging attempts and various authorial efforts (One poem managed to win a competition, and was published in my high school yearbook, One story made it to print in an anthology of stories focused on breastfeeding and one factual piece made it to print in a beautiful collection of birth stories).
So I stalled and stagnated a little, and making the decision to write more often still wasn't a concrete action of writing. Luckily as good things can happen I was blessed this year with the coincidental running of a series of writing workshops through my university that allowed me to put into action the whim of proactive writing this year. I put my name down and began attending, my writing practice is growing...Inspiration!
These workshops somehow also coincided with a social year resulting in all workshops being accompanied by unbelievably huge hangovers.

Still I managed to produce whimsical wandering writing. Ta Da

A woman

When did she become a woman?

Was it an age thing?

That happened as the clock struck?

Or the bell tolled?

A progression,

As the crow flies….?

The baby sucks a fist, a foot.

Eats pumpkin

Then grows up.

Did it happen

in the blink of an eye?

In the space between

Her first laugh…

And my last sigh?

Or the night

She cried

Grown up tears

Over the first boy

Who broke her heart

While letting me hold her

In my arms,

Like I held her the first time

As my baby.

xxx

More to follow...