We all know the rules, so the less said the better.

We also know what hobbies not to talk about, what utterances are beyond mere social faux pas.

LARP has a certain social contagion akin to going public with your fascination for Post Boxes…

Some things are best kept to yourself, or only shared with carefully vetted likeminded individuals.

Scribbling out the depths of your imagination is one of those such pastimes.

This uniquely languishes in a bit of a paradox not suffered by any other pastime.

You really want to talk about your ‘thing,’ you so desperately want folk to read your ‘thing.’

But you cannot, unlike a vegan or a CrossFit cyclist evangelise your passion – those pale emaciated spandex folk get an eye roll – you get open mouthed disbelief!

If innocently asked about your tall tales, and without being able to help yourself, you purge your very soul and tell all about rape, murder, magic, and disembowelling your enemies…

You speak with the intoxication of a true believer, you pause only to circle back to explain a brilliantly crafted plot twists, or those oh so cleaver pop references (for those in the know) that rest hidden in the text.

Your eyes have rolled all the way back, you have passed speaking in tongues, you can see no colleagues in the office, you only have visions of lightning storms, passionate lovers, and vanquished foes…

You tell all.

It’s cathartic.

It’s a mistake.

Your desk now has a group of co-workers who’ve shuffled back that little bit further than a double masked and triple jabbed Covid-19 devotee…

It’s not the air conditioning that has dropped the room temperature – it’s YOU.

Nobody will come into the kitchen while you are in… that mild mannered (if somewhat eccentric) man is now seen through a prism of death and destruction – even the purple haired girl who likes to think she is the office devotee of all thing Poe and Goth gives you a wide birth.

So, you work from home for a few days.

A bit of remote distance may help things shuffle back into place.

You won’t mention it again.

But, fuck, did it feel good!

Stay safe & remain sane!

“When the drink is in the wit is out.”

Had it in my mind on the bus into work.

I needed to set words around it.

It was such a great start to begin a passage – so I did.

One opening line now has a body hanging from the belfry (only to be moved when it rots and falls to the ground), and a very serious blood vengeance from the little people.

It’s the most inauspicious of beginnings that create great oak trees.

Feeling good.

Scribbling away.

No pressure – enjoying the telling.

Stay safe & remain sane!

It’s shiny, it’s Narcissus and the pond.

It is these things, and it is so much more, and so very much less.

Distractions, deviations, digressions, call them what you will, all those rabbit holes combine into so much time spent NOT writing.

I think we all do it, we all excuse our indulgences, we know and recognise the ailment in others, but seldom in ourselves.

We would never succumb, never fall foul.

But we do – we have!

Intervention is never pleasant.

A redeeming feature in this instance is that this is self-help (physician heal thyself etc).

Acknowledgement is the first step for so many solutions.

First principle is that we want to be read, and to do that we need to write!

Captain of the pub trivia team isn’t our objective; the table display in Waterstones is.

I have a few issues.

These we’ve admitted.

These we will address.

Words will be written, tales of adventure and daring do will be told.

Stay safe – remain sane!

All work and no play may indeed make Jack a dull boy, but reward rarely comes without effort.

And effort is our topic.

Is it futile?

Is it misdirected?

Is it sufficient?

All these and many more questions rush through the mind of a scribbler of fanciful adventures.

Yes, it is indeed true that some shockingly bad books are both published, and some are even successful – does that negate my need to focus on producing a quality product?

I think not.

Exceptions never prove the rule, well rarely…

The market has a place for my wares, there is a gap that my piece of the jigsaw is perfectly matched to fill.

It’s not the delusion of the mad, it’s not.

I cannot sell, but I CAN write a good page turner!

Amy, when read, would be enjoyed.

She has substance, she has agency, she is a character that you can invest in – if only she was read.

So, we type away, we send out our applications and we patently wait for that near mythical letter.

We continue her tale, further her adventures, we lay out a bountiful feast, sumptuous indulgences for those with inquiring imagination – we do this, we continue to do this because despite the frustrations of the unpublished we still have faith.

We still have hope.

Effort still goes in.

One day the result will come out!

Stay safe and remain sane.