I Want To Capture The Castle

"I write this sitting in the kitchen sink"

I have never been very good at keeping diaries.

Right up until the age of 16 I believed that if only I brought a pretty enough diary to write in (I have a fetish for stationary) then my body would suddenly be possessed by a writing genius and I was transform into the modern day Anne Frank or the real-life Cassandra Mortmain. I would spend too much money in Paperchase losing myself amongst the notebooks and pens, in the belief that one of these books would ultimately make me famous or make me become more than I was - what I was being nothing more than a shy schoolgirl who hadn't learnt to break the habit of sucking her thumb just yet. But nothing worked.

I still have my old diaries (although I use that term lightly) which have just a few pages of nonsense or what I thought was real meaning or enlightenment, and which turned out to be nothing more than teenage angst, and made me sound like a wannabe pretentious twit. And if I wasn't playing my own little sad violin about how sad and pathetic my life was and how nobody understood me, then I was writing about the most mundane things which are so dull they could be used to induce comas.

[I was going to insert a quote of said diary HERE but a) my room is a labyrinth of junk at the moment and I cannot find one; and b) I don't want to to destroy the braincells of whoever might be reading this.]

I lack motivation and I lack talent; but after finally coming to this conclusion, the girl who wants to lock herself away in a river house with only a typewriter, cigarette smoke and a rat named Jeff for company, has returned to, what she hopes to be, her spotlight.

And so I begin this blog, even though I have no motivation, no deep and interesting thoughts, and nothing really to say.

I guess I can't stop imagining that I really am Cassandra Mortmain.