Today I could not write…
Today I could not write.
I tried.
I sat there and stared at the screen
Willing the words to come
Telling myself I was not to leave until I’d written something
Anything
Eventually a paragraph of sorts appeared
As truculent as a teenage boy being forced to go to school.
Present, but determined to contribute nothing of worth.
So, like a jaded teacher, I gave up
and waited for that final bell.
I sought displacement
Like a contestant on the Crystal Maze
I did a physical
Raked dead leaves from the back lawn
Put a wash in the machine
Set the coal fire and stocked up on kindling
I checked my e-mails and was mocked by an empty inbox
Played Van Morrison
The Cure
And Jack Peñate
Peeled some spuds
Then read opening pages of some children’s books
To see what gripped and drew the reader in
Hoping for inspiration from them.
The Once and Future King
The Little White Horse
Ballet Shoes
Malice
and Jackdaw Summer
But that didn’t work.
I’d already got my opening and it was just fine.
It was the end I needed to crack
So I decided that I’d better stop all this self indulgent time-wasting lame excuse for laziness
and pull my finger out.
I’m sure that’s what Enid Blyton would have done.