A week since we got back from holiday. Life is serious now, back to normal. Last week I was still catching up – with washing, gardening – but now I have no excuse not to write. The trouble is, I’m completely stuck. I spent any spare time I had last week making notes on the novel, trying to find a way forward, but nothing gelled. There was no spark, no first line of a chapter aching to be written, no scene playing itself out in my head. I sat down this morning in front of my computer and tried writing various things but I hated them all. And now I wonder if this novel, if writing even, is What I’m Meant To Be Doing. But what else would I do? I need a purpose to my life, a focus . . . even at sixty. I ring Frog and he tries to be stern with me, telling me to Just Get On With It, but I get upset and then he relents. So now here I am starting a new blog instead.
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