Loads of people want to be writers, but it’s actually quite hard.
On rare occasions, when I’m flooded with inspiration, I can write six thousand words in one day. Far more commonly, I get a few hundred down on the screen then sit staring over the fields until new sentence comes to mind. Even when I’m productive there’ll be moments when I need something to distract me. It’s as if the inspiration I need has been placed in front of a blindingly bright light and if I look at it directly I’ll never be able to see it.
So I find little things to distract me. I recall one of the many improbable stories that my mum has told me on the phone. I play with a pen on my desk, taking it to pieces then reassembling it. I put a rubber monster on my finger and waggle it about as if it has something important to say to me. And sometimes, the only thing I can do is grab hold of the glow in the dark vampire fangs that are left over from a long-forgotten Halloween and stick them in my mouth until the muse strikes me.
Every now and then, it actually works.
