So simple

I’ve just sent to the proofreader a PDF of the monthly newsletter I edit. Unless anything is drastically wrong with it, I now have ten days’ or so of grace.

    I can’t wait.

    I love doing the newsletter. It’s given me confidence. I have a role in the village. I no longer feel like a freak with no children and no ‘job’ (except writing, which nobody but another writer understands). I’m thoroughly enjoying getting to grips with Microsoft Publisher.

    BUT, although only supposed to take a ‘few hours a month’ (according to the previous editor), it’s taken over most of my life.

    It’s my own fault. I think about the newsletter all the time and how I can make it better. I care about the contributors. I want more people in the village to read it. I'm scared of not being good enough or making some awful mistake.

    And I’ve lost sight of my other self. My writing self. The self who sees things when out walking that she just has to photograph.

    The self which makes me happy. 

 

Yesterday, I sat on the hill with the dog (as I do), basking in the sun and revelling in the view – all the way to Dartmoor, the tops of which were still sprinkled with snow.

    This is my time, I said to myself. All I have to do is make the decision to allow myself a few moments – or more.

    It’s so simple really.

    Not.

A not-very-good photograph taken last week from the hill when there was a lot of snow on Dartmoor. You might have to use your imagination to see it here however.