Blocked

Some years ago I took a creative writing course. The person who ran it implied that we should be able to write something worthwhile at any time, night or day, come rain or shine. I never had the chance to enquire as to which planet she came from but I assume it wasn’t Earth. I can no more write on demand than I can fly.

I’ve been sitting in front of a blank screen for about 30 minutes. My colleague, Tracy, has just asked me if I’m waiting for inspiration. I am. I usually try to hang these posts on an image and at the moment I haven’t got one. Time will have to pass…

…And it has and it’s a new day. I’ve rifled through the images on my laptop yet again and come up with one from a trip to Australia in 2005. Not that it is of much help, as it doesn’t really say a lot. Can a giant air-conditioning fan give me the impetus to pen a witty little piece about the environment, perspiration or fuel consumption in Honda diesel-engined cars? No, it can’t.

The muse is absent again. Perhaps she’s on holiday, sunning herself on a beach in the Maldives or checked in to a health resort in the New Forest. Whichever it is she’s not on hand at the moment.

Not that there’s anything wrong with muses being on holiday – everyone deserves a break now and again. Pixie and I seem to be in a continual state of returning from one, on one, or planning one; I think we’ve got four in the air at the moment and that’s just before the end of the year. You can never have too much travel unless it’s to and from work; most of my work is over 150 miles from home and not commutable. The holidays make up for the long days in the studio and the weeks spent in hotel rooms. It doesn’t matter how comfortable they are, hotels are not home.

The breakfasts are much better though.