When I get into a blogging mode it all comes tumbling out.
Other than that I am stuck in the daily life drudgery of wondering what the hell to write about!
Writing can be such a lonely occupation, with only a fridge full of goodies for comfort and Jeremy Kyle screeching in the background, and the promise of nothing until you put finger to pad or pen to paper.
My day starts at 7.00 am where I am forced by my inner conscience to get up and write a fantastic article that will blow the lids off every paper and magazine.
Unfortunately it doesn’t work like that!
In all honesty, that is seriously hard, unless you want to join the ranks of trash-story-seeking columnists who publish such stuff such as:
Posh Spice buys a new lipstick.
Suffice to say, people actually buy magazines to read stuff like that. God No!
The best writing comes from the heart, but often our hearts have difficulty communicating with our heads, and even more difficulty with others.
There is nothing worse than that blank piece of paper staring at you, whispering that whatever you’re about to write down is going to end up on that slush pile anyway! Don’t we know it folks!
First thing in the morning with half a dictionary stored in our minds, and strong Kenko tanking its way up to our brains, the best attempts are often scribbled across the page as little more than a few words of gibberish.
Once in a while, I might be collecting empty mugs from the bedroom, or reading the back of the shampoo bottle in the shower, when I am struck by that muse, and geronimo!
I helter skelter down the stairs to boot up the laptop, only to find that whilst waiting for Windows..Login… Pop ups, insta, Pintrest and Word to load up – well damn – I have forgotten what it was I intended to say.
Suffice to say, the muse only arrives when he arrives. And mine is usually particularly good at arriving when I am far away from my laptop (aka at the supermarket.)
I don’t find that a-muse-ing.
I turn to fiction often, because once you get a decent enough storyline or plot down, you can curse the muse, send him to hell, and just get on with a complete concoction of brilliant marketable lies.