The law of diminishing returns or why I am not writing enough


So, all year I work full time, look after the horse in the depths of winter, get up at stupid o clock, keep my teenage daughter fed and watered AND write something, quality not guaranteed, on at least 5 out of 7 days and now, it’s the big school holidays, 6 weeks off work and what has happened, the urge, almost a driven desire to ” just write something” has vanished.

In 7 days I have managed to dredge out, one Hunger piece and a silly poem/thing and quite frankly, that’s had all the pleasures of DIY dentistry, so it’s got me thinking of my need for routines, busyness and structure.

I thought I wrote in spite of these, I am beginning to suspect that actually I need to have a strong feeling of not enough time in the day to spur me on.

I am also wondering if comparative solitary ness is not a good motivator for me, perhaps I need to spend much of my time with 1,100 teenagers, battle through rush hour traffic, fight my way thorough, with all the other stressed wage slaves, the supermarket on a wet Friday night.

All of this, does of course, somewhat scupper the full time writer fantasy, you know the one, rising each morning to sit in a beautiful airy study while composing artful and elegant paragraphs of the great British novel, on my current performance, it seems far more likely that I would shamble off to deep clean kitchen cupboards, paint plant pots or stare adoringly at the horse.

I am clearly a little writer drone, needing to shoehorn my bits of writing into 20 minute life gaps in a packed and ordered day.

I am also wondering if the general feeling of well being that many weeks away from work fills me with is counter productive for a little misery hound like me, I seem to need to permanent too stressed to live, the alarm set to 4.30 am to fit in some writing before work, the snatched writing lunch break.

Perhaps I need that sense of urgency to force me to get on with it.

But on a positive note…..the little garden looks lovely.

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About cathi rae

50ish teacher & aspiring writer and parent of a stroppy teenager and carer for a confused bedlington terrier and a small selection of horses who fail to shar emy dressage ambitions. Interested in contemporary fiction but find myself returning to PG Wodehouse when the chips are down View all posts by cathi rae

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