Some days I simply find I have nothing to say.
I have no opinions about anything. I am indifferent. It’s not that I’m miserable, or cross, because, let’s face it, we all know what I can be like when I’m having a good snark.
A kind of ennui falls upon me, not a pall, exactly, just... I don’t know.
I’m sort of having one of those days today.
I’m sitting in bed with my first cup of tea, the husband, and a pile of papers. The husband is reading out the interesting bits, headlines and straplines and whatnot, and do I care? Do I? Nope. Can I be arsed to engage? Not really. Am I surprised or interested by anything. Not in the slightest.
Writing can be like that.
This doesn’t happen very often in the middle of something, but I don’t generally stop writing in the middle. I usually stop writing at the end of a scene or chapter.
Some days, I come back to the work, and there is nothing. I’ve left everything neat and tidy, and I have no idea where things go next.
This can feel like a curse, and, more than once, I’ve sat down at my keyboard and begun typing, because that’s what you do if you’re disciplined about the work, you just keep on keeping on. It almost never works.
Some days it is simply better to step away from the computer, close the laptop and find something else to do, and, when you’ve got a house and a family, there’s always something else to do.
So today, just for once, I’m not going to exhort you to anything, I’m not going to extol the virtues of certain practices or people or things, and I’m not going to bang on about the latest thing that’s made me feel snarky.
Today, I’m going to leave you all to get on with whatever it is you were getting on with without comment.
Clearly, today was meant for something else, which is probably just as well, because the quarterly accounts are waiting, and neutral is generally the right gear for that particular job.