Post The Third: Back to Reality

It's been only a fortnight or so since I returned from my Great Scottish Road Trip and already the heady mix of tranquillity, contentment, direction and sense of purpose that I discovered while on it has begun to boil-off in the unforgiving heat of everyday life.

I know I said all I had to do to dispel any stress was close my eyes and remember The Valley (the location of which shall remain a closely guarded secret...until the novel gets published at any rate), but I blame that same heady mix for dulling my senses to the rigours and demands of the real world.

Yes, the stress is better now (thank-you for asking)...

...and the sheer awesomeness of The Valley still sends warm fuzzy feelings throughout my nervous system whenever I recall it to mind, but there are only so many times a day I can disappear off into a safe-place before people start to think I've lost consciousness, or my marbles.

I thought that I would return home full of oopmh and brutish drive that would see any distraction bull-dozed aside in my quest to complete the next draft of the novel that would emerge from the haze of a smoking keyboard into the expectant hands of my eager beta-readers.  Sadly, in sixteen days since I returned south of the Border, I've managed roughly two hours of sporadic work on minor edits and corrections to the descriptions of The Valley.

Not that the tweaks and edits are bad.  Some are quite good.  I just expected that by now I would have done far more of them.  Life has stepped in the way.  Like a parent telling their child that they can't play until they've finished their meal (do parents still do that any more?).  Life has intervened and said  to me, "No Jack.  You can play with your novel when you've finished doing your chores."

Admittedly, not all my chores have actually been chores.  Some of them have been soul-invigorating social fun, with friends and family - but it's the fact that I lost my momentum and my first flush of excitement that bathed me in that halo of contentment and a sense of rightness about the novel that irks me.  I wanted to keep that glow, keep that sense of wonder fresh and untainted and keep it going for as long as I could.  I knew it couldn't last forever, but I didn't think it would have almost all rubbed off a little over two weeks later.

Can you tell when I wrote this? (Source:  The Author)

If I'm honest though, I've lost my routine.  When I was working on the first draft, I set aside time each day to working towards writing my target of a thousand words.  Sometimes I managed it, most days I didn't.  But it wasn't the number of words that was important, it was the discipline of setting time aside.

Like an athlete who's taken the winter off, I need to get back in training (come to think of it the same goes for my actual running...). I must get back into the routine.  Make time and space for my writing.  Force myself to stop, sit down, clear a space in my schedule and in my head and get back to business.  Mustn't keep putting it off any longer.

So I'll get on to it tomorrow night - no wait! My best mate's visiting from the Shires and then there's housework to do on Saturday, Sunday I'm visiting my parents, Monday after work...hmmm - that's complicated, Tuesday I'm visiting friends...Wednesday?  I'm not doing anything Wednesday evening.

No, I've got to start before Wednesday.  That only really leaves tonight.  What about now?  All I'm doing is writing this post...

Ah.  Right.   Yes.

I'll shut-up now and just get on with it, shall I?