Writing for yourself is harder than writing for a client. Sometimes it feels damn near impossible to squeeze the words out, like being severely constipated, and there are a million and one distractions, ready for me. It’s television, my parrot, my stomach, my allergies, social media, and even the allure of other projects not related to what I’m supposed to
Everyone has had a shit year, there is absolutely no questioning that. All over the world, people have experienced being locked in their homes, trapped by an invisible foe. It’s very real and most people are understandably frustrated by it. And I have written about this year being particularly shit for me, but this pandemic has only made the underlying
Anyone can be an average writer, but being a talented writer, that’s something special. Writing is hard work, requires a lot of time, an ability to brood and ruminate, and can be a praise-less job until you hit the bestsellers list. Society looks down at writers with a sense of disdain, because of the parasitic starving artist stereotype, and they
I believe that everyone who writes professionally and has a full time job has this issue with writing on a personal level. We just don’t have the time or energy or willpower for it. So the passion suffers, and then the work suffers because the passion is suffering. It’s a chicken and egg scenario, really. We work because we have
I’m perpetually distracted. Staring at a blank Scrivener page for hours on end, not getting a single word on paper because my brain is just numb. It’s akin to drawing blood from a stone, and frankly, it’s stupid. When I sit to write, it’s when I suddenly hear every sound, my body becomes famished and my brain zones into everything
My life never settles down; I literally live in a state of movement and discomfort. Over the years, I’ve learned to deal with it, but the last six months have been insane. I’ve had my first ever car crash, which totalled my car, I’ve met someone, moved, finally opened the UK marketing agency, and dealt with a host of post-crash
For years, I’ve been at war with myself, fighting to get my head to believe that my heart beats to the sound of prose, and not one of a cash register. I’ll admit that I’m materialistic to a point; and we all are. You need food to survive. You need a roof over your head. You need internet, a smartphone,
Eight years ago, I started writing this blog. Year after year, I’ve found myself repeating like a broken record, “I need to take my writing more seriously” or “I need to write more consistently.” Last month, I made the decision to write 2000 words every day. Guess how many I wrote? Possibly about ten thousand words. Across the entire month.
When I made the decision to start writing and blogging again, it wasn’t an easy one. I’ve always felt very naked and exposed, and always got nervous when I realized that someone out there was reading my words, the words which I clacked out on the keyboard. That feeling was also far worse when someone I knew personally was reading
