It is May already, the garden is making tentative moves towards its glorious summer display. The daffodils have been replaced by the tulips. It is a complete change from the grey skies of winter, bare trees and shrubs and the muddy lawn churned up by excitable Jack Russells. There is hope we may have a lawn again in time for sunny weather.
My novel with the working title of The Hollow has been plotted on the plotting board and cork version on Scrivener. The characters created are eager to tell their side of the tale. They have been jostling each other demanding they should be heard first but then nothing. Zilch. No words have been written apart from random notes hastily written on various apps or scraps of paper when the voices refused to be ignored or inspiration for a scene hits. I feel a failure before I have really begun. Life has got in the way; mainly ill health with the overwhelming fatigue it brings and the medication that numbs the pain and allows you to type/write for short bursts has the effect of zapping any creativity like a writer’s kryptonite. Even going to my writer’s group has fallen to the wayside but as I head towards another year older this month, it is time to regroup and grab the words when I can so this work in progress gets completed, no matter how slow or sporadic I will be.