I really didn’t manage to get anywhere near as much writing as I wanted to. The reasons behind this are many and varied. My job is still quite demanding and has not settled into a pattern I can control yet. Coupled with extended periods of extremely brain busy times which leave me with no capacity to do more than the basics. This sucks but until the situation changes which I’m hoping it will soon then that is going to remain. I am also a creature with hobbies. Musical theatre, board gaming and knitting crochet all of which a necessary to my well being to stop me going completely off the rails. But there is a part of me that feels hugely guilty that I don’t write more.
One of the things I need to do is make space for writing physically in my house I’ve made my office a dumping ground and that needs to change so I am going to have to get my bum in gear and do so sorting of stuff.
Next I’m challenging myself to write something by the end of January. Some poetry or a short story something small and doable. I feel like there is a solid white box sitting in my brain doing nothing but taking up space allowing me nothing but the ability to get the barest of essentials done. The box needs moving breaking down and redistributing but it is swollen and doesn’t want to move.
I’m aware that it sounds weird. Maybe to go with a computer analogy my hard disc is full, I need a RAM upgrade and a defragging. A hard reset wouldn’t go amiss. Though to be fair I could do without the smashing into a wall and dissolving that usually precedes them.
That said the rest over the festive period combined with headcold of doom has meant I’ve had to rest so that should help recharge.