You’d think that this lock-down would be the writer’s best friend. Hours and empty hours of time to think, perchance to dream and then to write.
This isn’t happening in my life and I get the feeling that it’s not happening in other’s writing life either.
When I’m not cooking with whatever we have, ie 1 chicken = a roast, a curry and soup for several lunches, or ironing while watching the weekday virus briefing by the powers that be, I’m playing Patience (3 rounds and then no more until the next day); tidying my desk (moving piles of papers to the floor while I send Tweets and Facebook messages and photos) then moving papers back to desk; taking the long statutory walk a day (now and then supplemented with a short bus ride so long as there’s no other travellers on the bus); completing Sodukos or not (most tricky one to be found in the Investors’ Chronicle which otherwise is a complete waste of money in the current climate); and finally taking photos on my phone and emailing them to my lap top so I can use them on social media.
Or, eventually, writing this blog.
After hearing that writing friends are also not able to use this space for writing but are floating around doing nothing creative, I’ve suggested we form an on-line writers’ group.
Watch this space and please excuse this airy-fairy blog. Can only do better.