Monday, 21 March 2022

Caregiver role.

Dear Friends,

If you ever find you'self in the role of caregiver, me heart go out to you.

Nobody...noooooooobody don't understand the soul-breaking, emotional trauma, the toll it can take on the personality, until they in it. Nice-nice ladies who always laughing tell me how it affect them and make them into grumpy ole men.

On to a li'l good news.

I start a newsletter, yay!

This is what I write there:

Coming soon...

Emails about life on the edge of South America.

Every other Sunday, I will take you exploring a landscape, a dreamscape, where even the mundane can be intriguing.

I will show you the stunning and the ordinary. The ludicrous, the lyrical. A raindrop, a waterfall. The amazing human being, the boring.

They all fascinate me in equal measure.

See you soon!!

Plenty love, neena maiya.

Sunday, 13 March 2022

What should my elf-name be?

Dear Friends, 

Confession time!! 

Books write theyself! 


Honest truth!

I ain't lying!

Writers don't work. 

They surf the internet, smile, listen to music and occasionally tap they pooter and... 


The book done write all by itself. (Actually, it was the little elves who been writing away whilst the writer sleep.)

Gosh! I feel guilty pretending that writing is work. Oh! The dreadful shame of trying to make people understand that writers fall into a deep slump sometimes, and they struggle to crawl out.

All ain't lost though. I know of at least one chap who acknowledge this and benefit from this truth, that writing ain't work. What a lucky chap.

Let me start at the very beginning, a very good place, etc.

Once upon a time, a charity organisation back home useta pressure me to edit they newsletter and to write they annual general report. 

I didn't waaaant to do it. But family pressure me too. 

Aiyeee. I would work meself up into froff and fury. But  then I would think, if I didn't do it, I gon go straight to damnation.

One day though Somebody tell me Something.

Listen, I ain't calling names. I ain't saying who tell me:

The organisation had, as employee, a chap who was supposed to do the writing that I get pressured into doing for free.

Whilst the chap collect the pay.

As I say, the chap did well know that writing wasn't work. He busy heself with uni studies. He all over the town making heself important with speeches.

Whilst I, the elf, edit and write, worrying that I gon fly to damnation if I didn't "help out".

So, anyways, like I say, I quit.

Want to hear the next story?

The organisation would, when giving speeches, talk about the value of women, and how "we must respect and treasure them."

How I wish I was a woman and not a' elf.