Thursday, 21 October 2010

Cold, cold turkey . . .

I've had a cold for a few days.  Man Flu.  Horrible.  And I've been reading Dr Faustus and studying a load of Cezanne stuff for the course I've been doing.  Consequently, I haven't had time to write.  Nothing.  Got ideas.  Loads of them.  Got a half written story and the idea for a book.  But I can't get on with any of it.  And it's making me, well, it's like I'm filling up, becoming over-run with the colours and the voices and the tears amd the laughter.  The darkness.  When I can't write, I get edgy.  When the lid is on, I bubble.

What are you like when, for some reason or other, you don't have to opportunity to write for a few days.  When life, real life, intervenes to cut off your writing hand?  Is it just me?  Do I need professional help?

Please tell me no. Not on these wages.

1 comment:

  1. Been struggling with this one for the last four months, since the birth of my time-sucking son. I have had to resort to typing on my phone with one hand while holding, nursing, rocking, or carrying the Little Man. Because, like you, I fill up with ideas.

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