So it seems I am only capable of writing a blogpoint once a month now. Following a predictable trend, I wrote regularly for about three months, then in bursts, and now I'm lucky if a sanguine moment occurs each month. But then my full-time work overspills into my weekends now, and the three girls are spiralling off into the ether with their plans and crazes, and I get dragged in their tailspin from time to time, plus Joe, plus the needs of the house....
Let alone the fact that when you write for a living, finding something unique to say that you haven't already put in print elsewhere, occurs only at unreliable erratic moments, like 3am, when the laptop is sleeping three floors away downstairs in the dark.
Hmm. How will I ever finish the three/four novels, one filmscript, one play? In fact, do I even want to finish them? Isn't their ongoing process the best bit about writing?
I can see why some writers only make it posthumously.
