As hobbies go this one is kind of consuming. 

Talk to people who play golf, and once a week (maybe) they trundle out and hit a little ball with expensive sticks; or indeed talk to people who follow football, and once a week they sit and worship at the altar of whatever team they follow…

And then there’s me. 

Every day. 

Every day, without fail or respite, I’m typing away. 

Pushing a story forward. 

But doing this ‘every day’!!! 

I’m either very committed, or very much in need of committal – and at times, I’m not too sure which one is correct! 

I cannot even absentmindedly stare into space – because even when looking out of the window, drool dripping down my chin, I’m thinking about plot lines, rewriting existing passages…

And to what end?

Why am I doing it?

I’m plodding along for two reasons, the main and overriding one being that I’m happy typing away, telling tall tales, seeing where my imagination can take me, and the secondary, is that at some point in the future, ‘others’ will share my enjoyment.

So, until the ‘others’ arrive, I’ll keep plodding along, typing words of peril and words of adventure.

After all, everyone needs a hobby…