So I’ve decided to move on to pastures new. I’m 9 pages into my new book and I hate it. Don’t ask me why, yesterday when I read it back to myself it was the exciting work of a genius. Today, it’s worst than the work of a seven year old. So now I’m writing this blog instead of confronting what is wrong with the piece. Classic case of avoidance, I have so many excuses to pick from, I think I can even write a book on how not to write a book. The endless cups of tea I make but don’t drink, the unnecessary phone calls to friends who are busy with real work, while I play at being a writer.

Sometimes I do ask myself why bother, it’s not as if I’m going to get rich from writing. However at the same time I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing. Since my own life is what you could call dull and unexciting, (I know they mean the same thing) my pleasure comes from being able to control the lives of the characters I create, their little foibles, their personalities, whether they live or die, what life they can have and on and on, the possibilities are endless. I guess you could say I have a God complex, which would be so true. I can’t control what happens in the real world, but in my world, I rule supreme. 🙂

Okay rant over, now I have to go and sort out a press conference and a grieving mother.