(not too late to start writing small stones - go here)
Are you failing?
"I know that of what I've written so far, most are not actually small stones. Like I said at the beginning, maybe it's enough to write something every day, but I'm not even managing that. Have I failed already then? I don't think so. I am looking more closely and I am thinking more clearly, whether I write it down or not. So, I'm not going to beat myself up but be grateful for the space to reflect on such things. I've been in a pretty negative place lately and that has already changed. I'm feeling grateful for all sorts of things and a joy that has long been absent has reappeared. There are glimpses of hope and so I press on, trying to be more disciplined in my daily writing and reflecting on it's value. Perhaps other things have changed that might account for this change of heart, I don't know, but it seems to me that small stones are building new foundations."
This is from Ghost Writer at Lime Tree Legends.
I wonder who else out there might have started with good intentions and tailed off. Or missed a day and given up.
As Ghost Writer says, it doesn't matter. As writers (as people) the important thing is to begin again.
One small stone, or even ten seconds of looking for one, is better than none.
Do share your own experiences of perseverance (how to or how not to!) in the comments.
I only have three spaces (from 16) left on my Writing as Spiritual Practice course now (taking place during March) - if you'd like to join the wonderful pioneering participants who've already signed up, please do. If you can't do March, I'm thinking of May and September for future courses so you could put your name down. Email me.
This white space is crying out for a poem. How's this for fine observation? And then I'm crying out for a cup of tea. Have lovely days, smallstoners.
Notes from a Tunisian Journal
This nutmeg stick of a boy in loose trousers!
Little coffee pots in the coals, a mint on the tongue.
The camels stand in all their vague beauty -
at night they fold up like pale accordians.
All the hedges are singing with yellow birds!
A boy runs by with lemons in his hands.
Food's perfume, breath is nourishment.
The stars crumble, salt above eucalyptus fields.