Day two and I am already trundling off with excuses to not write. I’ve had a long day at work, and my youngest brother is coming round for dinner in about two hours time and thus I am unable to put aside fifteen minutes for the old tappity tap on the laptop. I gently remind myself that this is to be an exercise to be done daily, like stretching or sit ups…but I’m crap at doing those regularly either. This is one of the issues of ‘writer’s block’, which is possibly a myth, though I just stopped writing to Google it, and was just reading about F. Scott Fitzgerald struggled with it, and then inadvertently erased the six sentences I had typed. Defeated already! What the hell did I just write? I’m pretty sure it was brilliant prose and now that shit is like dust in the wind. No matter, trudge on. What was I on about? Another issue if writing feels difficult: the wandering mind. In the time it took to write this, I have searched elsewhere on wikipedia, gone to the office in search of a book, and stared absentmindedly at the video game my husband is playing. Focus damnitt! But this is the story of my life. I’ll sit down, ready to open my brain and spill out the ideas and then wind up on a bizarre research chain of events and leads me to read about Oliver Stone to “Natural Born Killers” to “Bonnie and Clyde”, and then the real Bonnie and Clyde, which then leads to learning about ‘hybristophilia’, which is basically people that get aroused by violence. Meanwhile, on the other page, the task of writing remains undone. But maybe this makes me smarter, I’m filling my head with sparkling information that I can drop at cocktail parties…if ever I go to such events. But, hey, I’m writing about it now…does that count? Sure it does! Because the point is my friends, I am making the time, I’m not overthinking it (too much) and I am inching closer and closer to the sweet satisfaction of effortlessly getting my thoughts onto the page with ease. Enough for today though, I’ve got a dinner party to tend to.