Weekday mornings are executed like a military operation and it’s called packing the kids off to school. When I’m back home, the house echoes with silence (or the washing machine), then, as I settle before my computer, for a few hours, I’m something other than a mum, I morph into a writer.
Writing isn’t the day job when you sit and everything clicks, the words flow and the pages multiple. There is the dreaded writer’s block when the brain freezes, the day you look at everything you’ve written and wonder why anyone else would want to read it, the afternoon spent re-writing everything you wrote that morning, the immersing yourself in research and forgetting what you were looking for in the first place. Then before you know it, you’re glancing at your watch, it’s time to fetch the kids from school.
I’m learning, discovery things about myself, about publishing – the intricacies of editing, developing cover art, writing blurbs and synopsis, engaging with other authors, readers and interpreting reviews.
Writing can be a lonely affair when the words whirling about in my head refuse to come together.
This blog is for me, as all blogs should be, and it reflects not just my thoughts on writing, but on being a mum, a keen musician, a terrible gardener, a mediocre cook, an artist with limited skills, an embroider who can’t sew, gift buyer who can’t wrap presents and cat lover who mourns her absent friend.