My Life

My life has two aspects to it, one is the writing part, the other is the living part. The writing part I love.  The living part presents problems.  Living involves eating, sleeping, household maintenance, all of those in all their ramifications, paying bills and keeping up with those things I feel I was not born to do, but must be done.  Living includes being with people I love, too infrequently, they have their own lives to live.  Companionship and friends, great blessings, now and then. Living gets in the way of writing, my raison d’etre, reason for being.

Writing, or the presentation of it, also presents problems.  Getting to grips with the modern world, so called social media, a nightmare to the uninitiated, such as me.  I know pretty well what I want but not how to do it.  Mechanics are not my thing.  Not at all.  I have this blog, a Facebook page, a YouTube channel, a Twitter account, but know very little about their inner or outer workings.  Very slowly, I learn.  I depend on friends for help.  Some of which is forthcoming, has been in the past, more promised.

So, that’s about the size of it.  I would write more, sing more, present more, speak more, record more were my social media skills more fully formed.  Then so would be my presentations in those forms.  Writing comes easily, or quite easily to me.  I am a painter without a canvas, and must weave my own.  And be a frame maker.  I only want to paint!  I speak metaphorically, no Van Gogh I.

Picture my predicament, dear reader, a barrel full of words, no spoons and plates! How may I feed the multitude?  Assuming they are hungry.  If fast food is their choice, so be it.  My food is slow food.  Its a long time coming.  Worth waiting for? Who am I to say.  I only work here.  The Taj Mahal wasn’t built in a day.  The designer was executed so he would never do better.  A warning to perfectionists.

Cathedrals took generations to build.  Gaudi’s Barcelona is still unfinished.  I console myself with those thoughts.  A friend said I will be famous after I die.  I have that to look forward to.  Meanwhile, I write on.  To what effect?  Nil, so far. Although someone once gave me a pint of Guinness for a poem……

Looking forward to a crate,

Tich Ennis

14th March, 2016