Well, I'm back in Devon to the joys of central heating and a cosy Aga heated kitchen (well, it's an Esse but it heats the room up a treat) but I have no concentration for work. I don't know what happens when I miss a day's work but it takes me so long to get back into it it runs into the journey back...I should be writing the book, reading off my reading list (I'm tackling Incarceron by Catherine Fisher - amazing book, scary world though) but I'm mooching about ridiculously easily distracted. Oh, the cat's scratching himself, how interesting. I could go and get an apple - maybe not. Oh, all right then, just one. Ooh, clementines... I don't know how to get that mind set back again. I'm going to sit down at chapter 9 for ten, long minutes and see what happens. I shall report back. Am I the only person who does this?
OK, ten minutes did turn into an hour of editing, I can see where I have to go and have found a major cock-up along the way. But I don't seem to be able to write anything new. I have to look at these structured poems and I just need some sort of freewrite or starting point. perhaps I should write a poem about blocked creativity but hasn't everyone? And I'm hungry again. This much fruit may not be safe.
In the meantime I can rest my fuzzy brain against the stove and stay warm! Back to the reading list.