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.