Nothing To Do

You ever have a quiet week? One where nothing happens? I’m not talking writers’ block. I mean just when you have nothing to do.

Isn’t it odd? I mean, having nothing to do. We’re so used to the endless round of write edit write edit, proof read, edit, proof read, submit, publish, promote, start again that having nothing to do feels strange. I’ve submitted, and don’t need to write again for a a while and don’t even have research to do right now (not until I get to the library)

I listen to music. I watch The Night Manager again. I read a few books. I’m not restless, I just keep looking up and saying to myself ‘Isn’t there something I’m supposed to be doing?’ And the answer is ‘No’.

I suppose writing is really a 24 hour job. Even when I’m on holiday, I’m still writing, scribbling little notes, doing a bit of research. But when I’m really not writing, not doing anything, just sitting round, I feel like I don’t actually exist.

Yes, I know how strange that sounds. But that is what having nothing to do feels like.

The House at Baker Street by Michelle Birkby


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