On the way to taking Molly riding on Sunday we passed an old dwelling. There were bee hives in the overgrown garden and the house was covered with out of control ivy. I did not venture inside. Apart from the KEEP OUT sign, Molly kept telling me that the place looked as though it was on the point of collapse and she was doubtful if I would emerge alive! I took some photographs and we examined the dead badger floating in the dyke, then continued on to riding. The next dwelling, this time lived in was called 'The apiary', which made me wonder if that was the bee-keeper who once lived in the old cottage. Hmm, for some reason the photos I posted with this have not been published....Useless post with out them...
Saturday, 27 March 2010
Well, it's been two months since the Pastors hit the streets of Boston and we are beginning to be recognised and even looked out for by some people. Of course we are still being asked 'Where's the spaghetti?' by every other person, but let's look on the bright side at least we don't go out on the streets of Plymouth; what's the betting we would be Cornish Pasties, there!
We are having some interesting conversations, but many, many people are asking questions that I have no answers, absolutely no answers to. A man asked for direction last night. He used that very word: 'I'm looking for new direction in my life; what can you offer me?' When we spoke to him about God, he answered, 'I can't believe in a God who killed my 16 day old baby. While I have breathe in my body you will not make me believe in a God that could do that.' Of course we tried. I spoke about a God who loves...a God who doesn't kill, but for some reason, that I cannot understand, allows pain and suffering to happen. But of course, it was not what he was able to hear, and all I really wanted to do was hug him and tell him that it was all right to be angry with God, but I couldn't do that...didn't know what to say or what to do.
We are doing some good though. There was young George name changed), last night who looked so young and was so very drunk. A big lad with a baby-face, who staggered so uncontrollably that he almost tipped himself over the balustrade into the Witham. While he was propping up the wall of the Midlands bank, complaining that he needed a toilet and he didn't know the way home. I prayed. One of those simple 'on the spot prayers' that are whispered to the wind... and George said, 'over there...It's Ian, my mate. He might take me home.'
Ian, it turned out, was a pizza delivery man and stone cold sober, thank God. He grudgingly fetched his car and we bundled the young lad in. Answered prayer and a successful end to George's evening.
Thursday, 4 March 2010
2 Put one word after another. Find the right word, put it down.
3 Finish what you're writing. Whatever you have to do to finish it, finish it.
4 Put it aside. Read it pretending you've never read it before. Show it to friends whose opinion you respect and who like the kind of thing that this is.
5 Remember: when people tell you something's wrong or doesn't work for them, they are almost always right. When they tell you exactly what they think is wrong and how to fix it, they are almost always wrong.
6 Fix it. Remember that, sooner or later, before it ever reaches perfection, you will have to let it go and move on and start to write the next thing. Perfection is like chasing the horizon. Keep moving.
7 Laugh at your own jokes.
8 The main rule of writing is that if you do it with enough assurance and confidence, you're allowed to do whatever you like. (That may be a rule for life as well as for writing. But it's definitely true for writing.) So write your story as it needs to be written. Write it honestly, and tell it as best you can. I'm not sure that there are any other rules. Not ones that matter.