Unrealistic of Fife (aka Joan Lennon)

I am an utterly lucky bunny. I've been awarded the Jessie Kesson Fellowship, which means I get to spend March in the cottage on the left, working in the schools one day a week, doing some adult workshops and writing my tiny socks off. Please don't worry that I am now going to continue with a But ... There ARE not Buts for a situation like that. The situation is perfect. I, however ...

(See, a However is different from a But)

... have a tendency to be unrealistic. I've blogged about this before - the Bottom Syndrome - and what I'm suffering from at the moment is a version of that dread disease.

"With that much time," I find myself saying to myself, "that much beautiful, inspiring scenery, that much peace, I should be able to write AT LEAST Paradise Lost and Lord of the Rings and 2 radio plays and a short story and a Science Fiction masterpiece. And hike 20 miles a day, like a demented hikey thing. And take award-winning photographs. And learn how to draw. Oh, and I wouldn't mind being a few inches taller."

I lie for a living. But if I don't get a handle on THIS form of fiction, there is a good chance my head may explode, all over the beautiful scenery. Which must constitute some form of littering, and so I am against it.

Realistic aims, then:

I will write ... a moderate number of tons.
I will walk ... weather permitting, and slowly, so that I can take photos.
I will stand up straight ... which is the only way I'm likely to grow.

And if you hear a dull boom in the distance, here's hoping it wasn't me.

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P.S. Apologies - this post is meant to be on 28th Feb. but I can't get the delayed posting thing to work (sometimes it does, and sometimes it doesn't) and I need to pack up my computer now to take north with me ... Lucky bunny - I know!