After a dry day on the writing front yesterday I woke up and blasted out 1000 words on my latest writing project this morning. After the apathy and indifference of Friday, I awakened on Saturday to find that the mental fog had cleared and I saw the next chapter of the story laid out in front of me. No time like the present I thought, grabbing my I-Phone and happily tapping away for an hour beneath the warm duvet covers. Within an hour I had reached my daily target.
It’s funny how some days the words gush out, almost quicker than I can capture them via my keyboard. It’s effortless, almost as if a higher power has taken control of my mind and I’m a helpless passenger, staring down as my fingers furiously convert the idea into a more tangible format. Those are the days when I think I’ve cracked this writing lark and could write for Ireland, Europe and indeed the rest of the planet.
Those are the good days, the better days, the days when I feel like I’m getting somewhere. Then there are those other days, the darker days when I’m riddled with doubt and greeted with indifference no matter where I turn or how hard I try. The days when blog posts sink without trace, where negative comments and snarky asides slip beneath my defences like a hot knife through butter. Those are the days when I lean back from the keyboard and fear I’ll never return.
Writing is a fickle mistress, one day the cornerstone of your life, the next a fleeting, elusive willo-the-wisp that remains infuriatingly out of reach. All I can do is be patient and respond to the prompts and urges of my inner muse when it deigns to grace me with its presence. I’m just grateful for the better days and seize upon them where and when I can. It’s taken me decades to find my love of writing so I’m prepared to wait for her now and again.