What if....
Ignoring, for the time being, the larger question of where I've been for the past ten months, I have spent the past four Thursday evenings attending a writing course. Stepping out of my comfort zone and into a room with other people has not been easy, but throughout it all I have had the company of my self saboteur - never one to let me venture too far on my own without letting me know she's there. Sitting in a room, sandwiched between a knitting group and a Big Band rehearsal, I have begun to learn what it takes to be a writer, and spent more minutes than I think I ought, pondering what could have been if I hadn't given up playing the clarinet 30 years ago, or if anyone would notice if I slipped into the café to hide amongst the balls of yarn. I don't read enough, currently I write even less, and my 'friend' who I've brought with me is quick to question what I'm doing here. And, as the sound of the much loved music of my childhood swings around the ro