. I apologise deeply, but I really don’t have any idea what to write my piece about this week. I’ve racked my brains, but not a single spark of a useful idea has popped up. It’s not that I haven’t had ideas – it’s just they’re about questions like ‘who did kill Uncle Marty? (although he was quite odious and I can’t say I blame them)’ or ‘how does someone living in the middle of the moor get their post?’ or ‘who investigates mysterious happenings in Tudor London?’. (The 20’s style mystery, Victorian ghost story and a germ of an idea respectively).
I thought about cliches, or quotations or inspirations and although I had something to say about each of those things, it wasn’t more than a sentence, and everytime I did start to try to think seriously about this blog, my attention was caught by something, and my mind wandered off into storyland.
When I get the urge, nothing distracts me. Not just the feelings, but the real urge. Not work, not TV not books. I pay attention to the outside world with half my mind – just enough to not get run over by a bus, or get sacked, but my mind is firmly engaged elsewhere.
And when I get the urge, I have to give into the creating and writing and thinking, otherwise I get restless and extremely bad-tempered.
So that is why I have nothing to talk to you about this week. Hopefully, by this time next week, I’ll have finished at least two of my stories, and being blessed then with a calm and sweet demeanour, will be able to write something interesting and useful here.