For the last few weeks I’ve been unable to write. After never-ending months of the house purchase looking like it might never go ahead, I suddenly found myself with the reality that not only was I buying a house but I was faced with all the realities and complications that arises from the move.
I had so much to do that I decided it would make sense to put the writing on hold whilst I dealt with life. I hated doing this, especially as I’d got some very key scenes I was desperate to write. But needs must.
Like a lot of writers I sometimes find writing a chore. I often wonder if I enjoy the act of having written more than actually writing. But I have to say, I was pleasantly surprised how much I missed it whilst moving. Over the last couple of weeks whilst apparent chaos has swirled around me, I’ve longed for quiet time to sit back down and write.
And with this week, that time finally came.
I still have a mountain of house-related tasks on my ToDo list, I’ve yet to really unpack many boxes, and as much as writing last night was like trying to use a underused muscle, I still really enjoyed being back.
I’ve worked hard over the years to be able to afford space where I could work uninterrupted. Now I have it, with a massive new computer desk as well. I have no excuse now not to churn out the words now, do I?