You might think that someone who once wrote a response to the Brexit vote with a page full of the word ‘fuck’ might find very little difficulty in rattling out some nonsense to fill a page, let alone tell a short story. After all, its not a particularly high bar to beat, no matter how heartfelt it was. My creativity has taken a bit of a battering this year, and even sitting to scrabble out some stream of consciousness babbling is proving quite difficult.
But I shall persevere. I am a writer. That means I need to write. Therefore I need to stop worrying about the craft of my writing and just start flinging things up here to get back into the habit of writing. I have short stories to arrange, a novel to finish, more stories to finish, and a battle to complete with the Kindle publishing settings which don’t seem to want to verify my IBAN details.
I’m sure there’s an observational humour story in that, but perhaps when I have actually sorted it all out I’ll be able to look at it with more sanguine detachment.
So. Let’s get started.
