Recently in blogland, I've been struggling somewhat with the writing aspect. It's not that I don't have any ideas, it's that I felt I have no focus.
I still feel abit like that!
However, this morning I was really excited. I thought that maybe the local paper had published my letter. I thought maybe the local paper had published my letter because they emailed yesterday to say they amended the mistake I told them I'd made.
Here's what they didn't publish. I'm not surprised. It's a meaty paper and the article I was spinning off was a very small one.
William Jeffrey's death from a fall down the stairs wasn't a simple accident (Accidental fall killed 91 year-old, 3 Feb, p 11). It was an accident waiting to happen. The lifts at (Papier Mache Towers) are constantly out of service, forcing residents to use the communal concrete steps. These frequent, sometimes daily, occurences with the lifts render the disabled prisoners in their own homes and pensioners, like Mr Jeffrey, in danger of losing their lives. There is no cash in the pot to fix these things is the cry. But how many people are going to die under the banner 'Housing'? Wasn't Jennyfer Spencer's death one too many? There is a housing emergency protest outside Downing Street next Wednesday 15th organised by Defend Council Housing. Those of us that can attend should. The borough's been brutalised enough over the years and if it continues, there will be more blood. Which Government wants that?
The Housing emergency rally is next Tuesday, not Wednesday, but the reason I'm telling you about this letter that didn't get published is that for me it's something I have written without placing myself anywhere near it. I'm not in it at all (well, not that anyone would know).
It tells me I know what my heart wants, even if my mind puts up resistance (fear, fear, don't you love it...)
My letter doesn't tell me why I write a blog though. Although arguably, if I hadn't mentioned this pensioners death to you, would I have written to the local paper?
Who knows! What I do know is that I don't have a specific aim for this blog anymore so I have to decide whether I want to stop writing, or accept there is no longer an aim and just carry on instinctively writing, because it's fun and it's freeing and it's a form of ferapy when fings aren't fully fantastic.
Know wha' i mean?