It’s been a while - and here’s why
I’ve been lax about blogging before, but rarely have I been so long away from the Scribbles. And to be honest, this is a difficult post to write.
Because I’ve fallen out of love with writing.
Oh, I’ve pulled together a short story anthology for adult readers, for which I’ve signed a contract with BInk (but under a different imprint), have got a stunning cover design for it, and am quite excited about letting out into the world. But all the stories are either ones I’ve published before, or unpublished and tweaked. Not much new material at all. And of course, Tilda and the Dragons of Nargan was published last year, and appears to have gone down well with readers.
But writing new stuff? Not so much.
There are several factors at play.
One is that, much as I hate to admit it, I’m pretty much Tilda’d out. I’ve lived in her world for so long now, I feel the need for a change. And yet I know I have to write the fifth and final book. There’s a lot of pressure around that - perhaps self-imposed - because I want to give both Tilda and the readers a satisfying conclusion to her story, and I know it’s going to take a lot of work to get it right.
Another factor is time. During the lockdown days of the pandemic, I had tons of it. Since the UK really began to open up last year though, my days are much more full of in person things and commitments that I’ve picked up again. And discipline re writing has always been an issue with me - if I don’t feel like writing and have the time to put it off for today, I will. Trouble is, I now don’t always have the time to do it tomorrow…
And the final thing that’s had a major impact is my health. Specifically, perimenopause. Yes, it’s been in the news a lot recently and it could appear that I’m just jumping on an already loaded bandwagon. But I’ve been going through it for about five years so far, and just when I thought the end might be in sight, certain symtpoms got a fair bit worse. I have had, since June last year, the most awful night sweats and flushes. Having anywhere up to a dozen a night (I’ve not counted them - I’m just aware of multiple duvet on-duvet off moments in any one night) means I’m not sleeping well at all, most nights. And not sleeping gives me the most dreadful brain fog. Some days, I can’t function properly. Cannot think clearly or string words together, let alone maintain my concentration enough to write to the level I expect of myself. And after too many nights of disturbed sleep, I end up with a migraine - my body’s way of shutting down for a bit to recover - which can knock me out for a couple of days when they’re really bad. (I am in the process of getting help for my symptoms, but it all takes time. Time for me to admit I need help in the first place, then time to find someone who can help me…)
Writing anything - including blog posts, unfortunately - has simply felt too big. Too much. Too hard. So I haven’t.
What I have tried to do instead is be creative in different ways. I’ve said that I’ve been busy post lockdown, and yet I took up watercolour painting last year. The advantage is that by switching to a different creative mode, I seem to have given my writing muscles a rest. Which has paid off eventually because since Christmas I have slowly started to reconnect with Tilda #5 and am about 8K words in. It’s as rough as sandpaper, but it’s something. The love’s not quite there again yet for writing, but we’re definitely back on speaking terms.
So, there you have it. The reason why I seem to have neglected the Scribbles for so long. I will try to post more often this year, depending on how my brain fog goes. But until I have done something worthwhile and written about it for you to enjoy, here’s a painting of snowdrops to look at instead.
