Life is ironic…

A rather personal post today.

My son (3,5 years old) cannot speak properly yet. We have just assumed he is a little bit slow and that he’d soon catch up – seeing as he is bilingual and all. However, recently we have discovered several rather disturbing mistakes he makes. It appears he doesn’t understand the use of his own name or other people’s names. All his language is tied to different situations and he seems unable to transfer the knowledge to similar uses.

The nursery school he attends has made the same realisations and we will soon be meeting about it. Adutive dylexia was mentioned, as a description of his symptoms. We have yet to find out the cause. I worry for him, naturally.

My son will most likely struggle to express himself through language. He will have a hard time learning how to read and write, and the chances of him ever truly enjoying a good novel are slim.

It’s a bit ironic, isn’t it.

I am back… Sort of.

I am back, but I am tired. Not that anyone could possibly be reading this blog any more (if anyone ever did), but anyway. Hi cyberspace of nothingness. Anyway, as I was saying, I am tired. I have recently moved countries and I feel it’s time to decide on some sort of… career? At least something that falls under the category of a job. I am rather fed up with freelancing at the moment – the bad pay, the insecurity, the dead-end… It all gets to me eventually. Mainly because it is not, by any means, what I wish to do. Yes, I want to write. But I want to write novels and short stories, not economy reports, e-books on lawn mowing or romance articles. Frankly, I would of course keep doing it if it was a steady job. Must be better than selling furniture or clothes or groceries.

Ah well. I will try to keep this blog up. I need to remember my dream right now, it is growing more and more difficult.

I want

I want to find a word that is perfect, a word that makes you smile whenever you read it. I want to build a sentence, construct it slowly but surely until it is everything you want it to be. I want to add sentences to that sentence, until it becomes a paragraph. A paragraph so breathtaking, you can’t read it without feeling it. I want to keep typing until I have a page that catches you by surprise and makes you want to listen. I want to write a chapter that urges you on and makes you crave for more, and more, until the end. I want to write a novel that leaves you satisfied.

I want to write about the world in a way it cannot ignore.

Got a deadline!

I love saying that. I have a deadline and I am stressed.

Anyway. That’s why there won’t be any updates until this Monday the earliest, if anyone cares.

Fictional fiction #4

AN OCEAN OF

Water lingered at the corner of my eyes, a whole ocean full – the Dead Sea. I waited for my skin to burst and spray salty, sticky tears over everyone and everything within reach. I waited for giving up and giving in. With envy in my frown I watched those who had arrived already, who had gone through the worst and were now resting in limbo. They could cry an ocean and no one would wipe themselves off with a scowl and tell them to stop it, to pull themselves together, to get on with it.