I thought that I had written myself out. I thought that there was nothing left to write. I thought that age had got the worst of me. I thought that I could really not be bothered anymore. And then there was a gap, a writing break, there was a serious case of writer’s block, and then I had a serious think. For all the years I have been writing for blogs, magazines and newspapers, I still had to write, though I have written myself to a standstill, and tonight my flip flops died, and this has been a wake up call. I want to write again.

You know, when you get out of the way and into your comfort zone, it is easy to cease all human activity. you stop doing all that extra stuff that made you a person – you stop doing all that stuff that made you vital. You give up on everything that you enjoyed on the pretext that it is “too much effort.”. I still want to live and I want too live with writing, although it is the loneliest activity in the world.

So, when you write, when you commit those final words to paper. You send then off to your paper or magazine or that publication that pays you the pittance you get for what you write – this is your work, good or bad, BUT for this to exist you have to live life, talk to people, meet people, you have to spark, you have to be AND this is what makes writers the liveliest and loneliest creature son the planet – ALSIO, this makes us the strangest people, because you have to get the idea, then approach your victim and then convince them that you really are sound of mind and body AND that they will appear in a newspaper.

I guess this is why I love writing – you meet a wholes host of people that you would never have met otherwise and you have to get learned up on stuff that ou never dreamed you would have to know about.

Guess IO’m going to carry on writing. Sure as hell can’t live on kit, but sure as hell can’t live without it. Only thing missing at the moment is a few writing ideas.