Being a Writer

You’d think it was easy. Write words, give ‘em an edit and then publish.

Simple.

I wish.

Here’s what happens. Brain freeze. Yeah, that comes first. Searching for an idea. Nothing. Ah, but idea will be along soon.

Nope, Like fuck they do. Doesn’t happen. The ideas don’t play nice. I make a brew and think about something else. Let my mind drift around. See what happens. Have a look in my notebook for all the shite I’ve scribbled down in there.

Then, the idea arrives. It’s rough. But I’ll go with it. I start writing. Brill. And then stop. Bollocks. It‘s shite. Keep working it. Make it better.

And so it goes on. And if you are thinking this is a one off? Nah, it goes on like that all the fucking time.

So when you sit down to write a novel? The fun starts then, doesn’t it? I write every single day. Seven days a week. Trying to stay sharp.

That’s writing. Anyone who tells you it’s easy? They’re talking bollocks.

Why do it? Fuck knows. I think because I’m a writer. It’s in me. I’d write if I never wrote another book. Can’t help it, see?