. There are two parts of my nature, constantly at war with each other. There’s the restless, adventurous, active side, who wants to get out, do something, anything, run and jump and dace and write. And there’s the lazy side, who likes to sleep, and curl up on the sofa, and eat, and not move. Every morning, these two sides struggle over whether I go to the gym, or stay in bed – the winner is about half and half.
It’s the same with my writing. Once I am actually writing, I love it, it’s exhilarating, and fascinating and just so much more fun than anything else. But it does take actual physical effort to start it, and the lazy side of my nature gets in the way, suggesting a movie, or book or just sleep instead.
The writing side wins occasionally, because of the overwhelming force in my nature, the one that overrides all others – the search for the perfect story. I first wrote because I couldn’t find a story to give me exactly what I need, and that is still the driving force behind my writing – telling the perfect tale,exactly how I like it.
If I’m sat there reading a Jasper Fforde, or an Anne Perry I feel no urge to write. But give me a lesser author, a story that’s not quite right, an unsatisfactory ending, a superficial character, and the urge starts, and pushes and annoys until my lazy side finds itself battling an increasingly wound up active side – then I have no choice but to write.
The problem is, the lazy lifestyle can be just so … nice. Only the urge for the perfect story has any chance of beating it.