Last September I tentatively paused my hectic life of teaching to enter the world of writing. I had struggled for years attempting to spill the numerous creative ideas in my head onto paper during school holidays with bags of marking and planning puksing like Poe's tell-tale heart in the corner of whichever room (or tent) August would find me in.
I had visions of me curled up in my cosy living room - sans enfants - typing fantasy whirlwinds for hours on end.
But I forgot about the power of the 'off' telly; the overwhelming desire to make green the red standby light and catch up on all of those marvellous box sets on Amazon Prime.
I had to leave the living room.
So off to the kitchen I went; surely the kid's homework desk with a view of the garden would generate the perfect creative atmosphere. Never before had I noticed the beeps, bells and whistles that fill a house (why does your washing machine need to tell you so often that it's finished?!) or how important it was to do all of the washing up ,sweeping, feeding the cats, making cups of tea, putting out the recycling...yes you get it - the ultimate distraction: housework!
I had to leave the kitchen.
I'm fortunate to have a log cabin in the garden (previous homeowner had a childminding business out there) so I thought maybe it could stop being a dumping ground for stuff to one day be posted on gumtree or netmums. Having persuaded the GeordieLad to clear out the bugs and beasties, buy a new funky lamp and of course, a whole bunch of new stationery, I moved in and my new routine was borne.
Blog stuff (writing and reading) in the morning whilst listening to the lovely Vanessa on BBC Radio London. Research time coinciding with Radio 4's Women's Hour. Followed by a long afternoon that stretched out with hours of words with the four women who were being constructed in my first ever novel.
With the rain tapping on my wooden ceiling and the sun streaming through the skylight, there I am hunched over an old dining table filched from my sister; day after day after day. By myself bar the occasional visit from a cat or two. The day broken up with a squirreled lunch and copious cups of tea or cawfee.
When literal cabin fever sets in I surface to explore new places to write; coffee shops (too noisy and expensive, calorific sustenance); libraries (lovely every now and then but I admit I spend most of the day character-creating inspired by the zillions of people who fill these glorious venues); museums (way to much distraction because I loves a museum); parks (it's summer, there's rain, 'nuff said)
So crawling back to the cubby hole of my cabin, I welcome the silence and accept the loneliness that arises in the pursuit of writing heaven.
This post is linked up with What I'm Writing linky:wk83