I've got writer's block. There I've said it. I can't put anything I want to say into words. I have to though. I have people waiting for me to produce something witty and interesting, but so far - nothing.
I was advised a while ago, by a dubious literary agent, that I should save my best writing for the book, but that has meant my blog has suffered, badly. But now I've started writing for my blog again I just can't say what I want! It's driving me mad!!
I used to write for fun and didn't care if anyone liked it or not. I didn't mind if my followers found my writing immature or incompetent. But now my writing has to step up, a considerable amount. With offers and potential offers in the pipeline, now is the time to get serious.
I am my own worst enemy. I am incredibly self-critical and I dissect everything I ever produce, finding fault at every point. I've done that most of my life with practically everything I have ever produced, but it made me strive harder to be the best I could be. Lately I've criticised my writing even more, because it's under such scrutiny, far more than when I started my blog. But I've decided to just write as I speak, and speak as I find. I won't ever produce a literary classic, but I didn't enter the world of the serial mistress to do that.
After recently reading the Fifty Shades trilogy (while the whole world went crazy for it, and it became an instant best-seller) I have realised that what you write about is far more important than how you write it. A word of advice, the first Fifty Shades book is badly written, but it should act as a filter for those who want good grammar and wish to avoid repetitive drivel - the second and third should be avoided at all costs. Especially if biting lips and breath catching grates on your patience after one chapter.
So, if Ms James can write three best-sellers, and become a millionaire overnight, I can sure as hell write one, a few columns, and a blog. Maybe now the summer is here I will work better in the garden, rather than being distracted by the ironing pile, or the washing up, in my house.