Thursday, 4 November 2010

Been a bit distracted...

So here we are then. I set myself a target, and within a week or two I am failing spectacularly to meet it... I throw myself into a pink snit about my general uselessossity and my particular creative failings and before I know it I am habitually not doing the thing I most want to do...

It's too boring and too too shaming to go on about it - so I intend to simply pretend that this recent gap in the process has never happened. I did not get poorly, I did not spend way to long applying for a little job, I did not get distracted by decorating, cooking, mooching or crap telly. No no no no no  - I was involved in some important research.

So while I was not managing to actually arrive at the page for some uninterrupted #mywriting I was in fact doing something jolly important. I was cogitating.

I know believe that what I need to do on a daily basis is cogitate. It's like meditating except you don't have to faff about with yanking your limbs into the lotus position, or demanding the whole household go into semi-shut down while you 'om' your way to inner knowledge and try to ignore the itch that has developed behind your ear - dangerously close to the usual nit site.

No cogitating is the go for all writers, mothers, people over 40 and anyone who needs to create a pause in their day - or if you are like me it's the comfy hiding place from the 'do-nothing' blues.

I no longer waste time staring out of the window, marvelling at the regimented front patio of the scowly lesbians across the road. No no, I am now cogitating. Buidling up characters in my head, wondering about what curtains, pictures, nick-nacks such a couple would have - noseying around their wheely bin for clues. From a safe distance in my imagination of course. I would never EVER actually rootle around in a neighbours bin to figure out what they eat for supper.

Hmm how would that be, if you started watching your neighbours and discovered they were up to something sinister. What exactly are they doing at 6.15 every night when the curtains get drawn.... I wonder ....

Hey I've just written my way out of a pickle and into a story ... you see this turn up and write lark might just work!