On Writing

"Everything happens kind of the way it's supposed to happen, and we just watch it unfold". Rick Rubin

Didn’t write anything this week. I was busy, tired, didn’t have anything to say. No dramas to share. No meltdowns to metabolise.

One thing though – I don’t have writer’s block. I think that’s bullshit. If you’re fortunate enough to be creative, it doesn’t men you have the right to create. You’re lucky if and when it visits you. Often it won’t. To say that we have some kind of block suggests we are entitled to have full time access to the source.

Where is the muse? Why has she forsaken me?

Bullshit.

She was never yours to begin with.

Be patient. She’ll show up when she’s good and ready. If she’s good and ready. Moan about her abandoning you and you can be damn sure she’ll take even longer. Being creative is no different to farming. You can’t just keep raping the land and expecting it to give back. Be patient. Fruit will come.

In the last twenty years or so I wrote five books. The last one was finished five years ago. Since then - nothing. Made a film, played some music, but no words. I kept listening, kept alert, but she never showed up ‘til recently with a sudden splurge of Substack posts. And then this week - tumbleweed.

Maybe she’ll never come again, maybe I’ve written my last post.

I don’t care. I just feel happy to have had a dance or two.