When I woke up last Saturday morning, everything was so quiet. The garden was enveloped in mist but when I hurried into my dressing gown and out onto my favourite bench, the air was warm and welcoming. A perfect, end-of-summer-beginning-of-autumn-morn.
So I got my cushions and made my morning latte (love you, Nespresso) and thought about how wonderful it would be to just sit here and write.
Then I wondered why I didn’t do just that.
Why was it no longer natural for me to just grab the Mac and tap tap tap away?
Because I’d become so focused on all the must-do-as-indie-author tasks (Facebook, Twitter, Good Reads) that I’d lost all the joy writing brings. I kept putting it off because it meant more half-hearted Tweets and annoying posts to clog up my friends’ newsfeeds.
But now that I’ve said goodbye to social I suddenly found myself inspired again. I didn’t want to tweet or apply fancy filters to photos to make it look like my life is a montage from a French film, I wanted to write.
I got more done on the sequel to Chocolates in the Ocean sitting on that bench for an hour and this past week than I have done for the past two months.
And it felt good. It felt like me again.
When writing was fun, not diluted by all those other tasks you’re told you have to do but don’t really want to. We all know they never get done properly.
Do what you love. Life is so much better that way.
I’ll sweep the leaves up later.