Drowning in Episodes

It is probably a writer thing, but I find narrative a defining word. To me, it is narrative that stops life from just being an incoming tide of events and information that overwhelms anyone without a story to tell themselves. If you lose your place within your own plot, it can all soon stop making sense.

One of the ways this blog works for me is as opportunity to reflect on the direction of my own narrative. When I stop working on it for as long as I have recently, you can take it as a sure sign I am drowning in episodes and facts that have derailed any attempt for me to be the author of my own story.

February has been a tough month. To use colloquial Essex, it has in fact been seventy-fucking shades of hell. However, when I get the chance to edit all the strands together into a semi-coherent narrative, I know certain themes will emerge. One of those will be gratitude. Amongst accounts of death; loss; living in 1973; the everyday grind of having to wash a 98-year-old women after she has wet herself; dealing with the possession like state of a relative with dementia; my own failing health; bouts of sleeplessness strung out across night after night on cold floor; struggling to finance a funeral and fighting against bureaucracy to try and look after those left behind, there is actually still a lot to be thankful for.

The single thing that I am most grateful about is that I actually had a 95-year-old grandfather to mourn. Despite everything, that single fact blazes stellar in universe made mostly of dark matter.

Whatever else has happened, they have been a few precious moments of light, love and laughter that made it through the oppressive miasma of the last few weeks. At some point, this blog may feature tales of Luke Haines’ live comedy act, hugs, orange cars, my first birthday in years, travelling back to London to find a bowl of spicy food waiting for me, talking new books with old friends and Granddad singing My Funny Valentine live from the gimmer ward.

There have also been acts and words of support I am very grateful for. Trust me, these things are not forgotten. I will be directly thanking all the individuals concerned during the coming weeks.

I also want to thank anyone who is reading this ramble. All authors – even minor cult authors – ought to have the commonsense and good grace to be bloody appreciative of readers. Especially when those readers stick with them even when they do loose the plot slightly for a few pages.

I hope to regain my grip on the narrative and return to this blog soon. However, it will not be until after the funeral on Tuesday and when the health of both my Nanna and myself is more stable.