Keep on Writing

One of the more thrilling aspects of being a writer (and I speak as someone entering her second official writing year) is that you get woken up at 3.30 in the morning with a set of words buzzing around your head, insisting upon being written down immediately. And you have to write them down because if you say to yourself 'Oh, I'll do it when I wake up properly,' you know blooming well that those words will vanish into the ether, never to be seen or heard of again. That is until they pitch up in a best selling novel by another writer a couple of years down the line, because believe me, once you get a plague of words, those words won't give up until they find a home with a writer somewhere, so best to make it you.

In order not to wake Andy on these occasions by pinging on the bedside light in the wee small hours, (and emitting a tiny 'eekkk!' because sometimes it gives me a little electric shock) I slide out of bed and stumble bleary eyed to either the bathroom or, if I'm feeling particularly brave, down the stairs to my writing room. I say 'brave' because in trying not to wake myself up too much, I try to keep eye openage to a minimum. This can make writing tricky but I usually manage to get the rampaging words down with reasonable legibility.

However, managing stairs in the dark with semi-open eyes and the possibility of coming across three cats on the prowl can turn into an extreme sport. Usually I find Tybalt asleep on the sofa in my writing room.
'More inspiration?' he'll say, peering at me from beneath his black silk with purple ribbon trim eye mask.
'Yes,' I say.
'Is it time for breakfast?' says Phoebe, staring at me plaintively and holding up her bowl like Oliver Twist.
'No,' I say.
'What are you doing? Can I do it? Do you need any help? Let me help!' says Pandora, whilst clinging onto my flappy jim-jam bottoms in a game of 'Sharp Cat Claw Meets Soft Human Flesh so Who Screams the Loudest?'

Words committed to paper I return to bed. When I wake again two or three hours later I re-read my nocturnal ramblings. Sometimes they make sense. Sometimes they don't. Sometimes I think, where is my brain coming from. Occasionally, I panic about where my brain is going to. But usually I am glad I answered the call to write, whatever time of day it occurs.

It's been a tricky slog with my writing these last five or six weeks. Not writer's block, you understand, because I don't think such a thing exists. No matter how dire it turns out, I can always find something to write, just to keep the writing cogs turning. It may have been a mix of personal crisis and loss of confidence. It may have been sheer out-of-steamness given the intense year of writing I have just completed.

But something lifted yesterday. The heavy cloud has gone. And today I find myself newly invigorated and raring to go again. Hence my 3.30 am date with my notebook this morning.

'Right,' said the words, 'we've got this idea. Pen and paper ready? Once upon a time...'