It’s a ritual of mine, this weekend freefall, first thing in the morning before even checking my emails. The temptation ‘to check my public’, as my husband calls it, is so great, always looking for a piece of good news, a distraction, a friendly message, anything to shift me away from the hard work of writing, at least from beginning to write, for it’s the beginnings of writing that hurt the most. That terrible time when the white screen yawns before me empty of ideas and words and the thought comes again and again, I have nothing to say, nothing worthwhile to write. Anything I write will be useless, or worse it will be meaningless, colourless, it will lack any relevance to any person living on this planet, including me.

How easy it is to get into a diatribe against my writer self. And how boring, but at least it’s a start.

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