Day 2. It’s early. Peppa Pig is blaring in the background and my small son is sat next to me twirling my hair in his fingers while he sucks his thumb. I am an advert for unergonomic writing – laptop balanced on my knees as I slump down to toddler height on the sofa, head tilted (or tugged, to be more accurate) leftwards at a neck-crick inducing angle. But I am writing
I know, I know. Day 2 seems somewhat early for self-congratulation. But for me this month is all about simply turning up at the page, come what may, every day. What spills out on to the page is simply the by-product. It is the act itself that is important. The liberation that this thought brings is tremendous.
Of course, deep down, I’m hoping that ultimately that liberation will free my mind to the extent that my unconscious will dictate a primeval pattern for my fingers to dance across the keyboard and I will discover that what I have written will speak to millions. It’s good to dream.
Failing that, I’ll be happy with having kept a promise to myself and with having allowed my creativity a little free rein in an unjudgemental space. And if it takes a little premature self-congratulation to help me through, then so be it.