So I decided to start a blog post. I had a whole kaleidoscope of ideas twirling through my mind. I’d close my eyes and see myself typing away, coming up with ‘the next greatest thing to hit the net than this http://trumpdonald.org‘, (look it up in your browser, it’s errrmazin).
The only thing is I wasn’t focusing on the content, just the ‘me creating the content’ bit. Which is not all that useful!
So… cut to me talking myself up on my Facebook page:
“Roll up, Roll up! Greatest literary scholar ever to bless your existence with their words” I imagined the newspaper pages swirling towards you as they display a myriad of headlines along the lines of:
‘Asha The Great’ or ‘Asha Collins for Nobel Peace Prize’
Yet, here I sit…waiting for the good old ‘inspiration fairy’ to tickle my grey matter and make strong my funny bone!
‘Write’ they say, just write and KEEP writing! Well I take that advice, as I would the slap of a glove from any man/woman/gender-neutral human/child/or defenceless animal – DEAD SERIOUSLY!
So here I begin, just like Bilbo Baggins before me. I’m off on an adventure and you are all welcome to join me!
I’m undergoing a process of rebirth, re-worth, and re-writing in my life (on both a smaller and larger scale). So I won’t promise that every blog post will be flippant and fluffy, or that I won’t embellish the crap out of some relatively innocuous story.
I WILL promise to tell it like I see it, which means with a large serve of Collins tainted comedy genius! *
The girl walks silently into her bedroom, sits down on the bed holding a strange shiny black orb firmly in her hands. Squeezing her eyes tightly closed she forms a question in her mind. With all the fabric of her being, she focuses on this one question.
For a short moment, she becomes dazed and she remembers that she must continue to breathe. In. Out. Slow and steadly. Exhaling evenly she turns the black orb in her hand.
One section of the orb is flat, and more than that it seems to be translucent.
All her attention is focused on the orb as she stares into the flattened part of the cold black ball.
Something begins to appear. Emerging from the black liquid inside the ball is a shape, a triangle etched with text.
She inhales sharply.
Lifting herself onto her feet she tilts her head to the side. Across her face dances the light from the crack of the open door.
“Yeah, I’ll have a cuppa. Ta!”
So right now, I’m going to throw around some ideas and like a magic 8 ball Ima shake them about and see what brilliance happens to float to the top.
Love you x
*No other Collins’ are responsible for the potential lack of content quality in this blog.