Authors Electric

That was what my partner asked me.  ‘Do you have writer’s block?’ A couple of weeks ago. After I told him I’d not written a word on my work-in-progress since early May. And before that, not since February. My instinct was to say, ‘No, of course not.’ And so I did. But I wondered. Did I? No. Not at all. When I sat down to write in February, the words flowed. Plenty of them. A virtual torrent. The same in May. On the train back from a family and football weekend (the best kind, I find). Having safely finished the talk I’d set out to write on the train down to London two days before. And that’s the problem. I only really write when I have no distractions (no chores, no Internet, no family concerns, nothing to plan), which tends to be when I’m away from home – on train journeys (what a blessing the quiet carriage is!), on holidays. But even then, only when I don’t have a talk to write, an event to prepare for, when I’m prepared… ‘Distractions’. I guess that’s really shor...

Is everyone else super-person? I can only speak for myself, but I’m struggling to fit everything in. There’s stuff I have to do, like basic cooking and eating and cleaning and having a shower. I know it’s tedious but it’s necessary and takes, let’s say, an hour and a half each day. And sometimes I have to go to the market for fruit and vegetables, or nip round the corner to the supermarket for milk and bread and coffee - another half an hour. If I’m to stay healthy, I need regular exercise - my exercise of choice is walking in the open air. If the weather is kind I can stride beside the canal, breath sweet air and hear the birds sing. That’s another hour. (If the weather is rubbish, I go for a swim - by the time I’ve gone to the pool, changed, swum, showered, changed again, and walked home, there’s not much change out of an hour and a half).  Then, I’m told I need to practise mindfulness - given the sensory soup of walking, and then the bombardment of useful and usele...