I have discovered that taking two weeks holiday is as conducive to good writing as say drinking a 1.5 litre bottle of whiskey is to careful, considerate driving. Or better yet trying to drive after drinking a 1.5 litre bottle of whiskey AND wearing a blindfold.
In other words - one makes the other ever so slighty harder to do.
I've been sat up here in my attic office since 9 o'clock this morning willing my reluctant brain to get back into literary mode - but it just ain't having it. I find myself being distracted by the tiniest things: sorting out my paperwork before I start, oh I'll just wrap that parcel, actually I could write those two letters I've been meaning to do before I start...ad infinitum.
This afternoon I actually spent an hour on the internet casually trawling for spoilers about the upcoming series 5 of Doctor Who - time well spent you would think ? No - because although I feel suitably rewarded for finding a couple of long-range snaps of Matt Smith in his new outfit in (of all places) a rock quarry and the speculation about if the interior of the TARDIS may have a make-over this does NOT fulfil the primary duties of a writer- to wit: to write something (or much more preferably to write something, finish it and get paid).
In addion to this valid point I also have the added incentive that Mrs. W will remove my testicles with a rusty coathanger if she even suspects that I've been indulging my passion for all things Sci-Fi instead of fulfilling my role as joint bread-winner.
Ah, truly marriage is a wonderful institution for instilling clarity and direction in the male partner... without the ever present threat of spousal disapproval men invariably lose all sense of direction and end up going off and doing things which we doubtless enjoy but have little, if any, productive value. Like going down the pub, watching 'Diagnosis Murder' or surfing the internet for Doctor Who info...
Or is that just me..?
So, after my third cup of coffee I have had a stern word with myself, put on a CD of Gregorian Chant (to inspire a Monk-like state of inner peace) and decided to salve my guilty conscience by updating my blog - I mean it is writing, right ?
Good Lord - I can actually feel the old writing muscles actually starting to creak back into life... I wonder what Shakespeare did to loosen up the rusted literary genius after a couple of weeks on holiday with Mrs. Shakespeare and all the little Shakies ? Probably went down the pub and knocked out a preliminary script for Eastenders before getting back to the really serious work about Scottish nobles and Danish Prince's rambling on about regicide...