Signs of Life
He bumbled and grumped through his morning routine. Bedroom drawers rumbled open with no clack of closure. Water spattered from taps. Downstairs, doors clumped shut, cutlery crackled against crockery. The kettle clicked into rumbling action. She waited, quiet, listening. How loud it all was. These noises intruded, silencing her thoughts, quashing her dreams, tethering her to this life. Their life? His life. Later, she would make noises of her own.
I've not been doing too well with my writing lately. This blog has languished for weeks. And yet it is not for want of ideas. My head is filled with half formed ideas that never seem to develop, or refuse to develop the way I wish they would. I'm not quite sure why this is. My initial lack of confidence about my writing has waned somewhat, entirely due to the encouragement of some very talented people. They are still telling me that what I write is worth something, and they ought to know about stuff like that, right? After all, for some of them it's what they do everyday.
Life is full of noise at the moment. Lots of banging and clattering, some of it is good noise, but quite a lot is just clatter. And it's hard to put that aside and find the quiet calm that enables the half formed ideas and thoughts to grow into something real.
Signs of Life was written a little while ago. Now seemed like a good time to bring it out into the world.