I’d like to update this blog more frequently. Truly, I would. And yes, it’s often time (ie a lack of it) that prevents me from putting finger to keyboard. But it’s also a certain resistance. An unwillingness to be what I suspect would be cruel. I don’t understand the (modern?) need to share the details of one’s woes and insecurities and anxieties to all and sundry on social media. And the key word for me in that last sentence is ‘details’. Making general comments about the state of one’s mind — yes, okay, I can just about see how that might be done in a spirit of seeking connections. But getting into the small print – by which I mean revealing the identities of specific friends and relatives who have (allegedly) wronged us, recounting all the twists and turns of a row – that seems… well, like I said: cruel. To the other people involved. And it often strikes me as being destructive rather than constructive: an attempt to destroy bridges rather than to find new ways to build or re-build them.
I want to explore and confront and challenge… but I don’t wish to be cruel. If the fiction I write manages to hold a mirror up to nature, I want it to do so in a spirit of generosity and helpfulness, not condemnation. I want flaws to lead to hope, not to isolation.