Write-Place

Since my mother now  91 years old, moved out of her home of 62 years and into a care home, I have stored in my spare room a large collection of paper work, written over many years by my mother and father.  They were both involved in the Methodist Church since childhood, Dad being a Local Preacher and Mam leading a weekly Women's Group at "The Chapel" at Whitburn for around forty or more years.  Whitburn, Then and Now  by J Gordon Holmes When we look at these writings - readings, anecdotes, poetry and stories - with Mam, she remembers things sometimes and has forgotten them completely at other times, but she is always amazed that she wrote them and pleased that we can share them and the memories, together. One, about people who collect things, which we read the other day was particularly apt. It is a slow process as she finds it difficult to concentrate - as do I -  some days.  My Dad, who died in 1989, was a writer, musician, artist, local historian and aer...

Having not put pen to paper or rather fingers to keyboard to write anything more creative than a comment and share on Facebook or Twitter - some serious but mostly trivial or joking - I somehow found myself being directed from an Author  Community post to a "Freelance Writer" website, this morning.  I say "somehow" as if it was a surprise to me, but as the speedy diversion from one activity to another is how my life runs these days, it wasn't surprising at all. Whether this is a sign of old age, lack of concentration or plain stupidity (probably all three and more) I do it constantly, much to my own annoyance.  I put bread in the toaster and fill the kettle to make tea or coffee and notice that the tea towels washed earlier are still sitting in the washing machine, so pick them out and begin to hang them on the line. I wonder where the peg bag was left, and a search for it down the garden begins, involving a quick sweep of the path, pulling up a couple of weeds...