I live in a lane, rather than a street. There are seven houses close by and children live in two of them. It has a country feel about it, as there are fields around us, but the main road is only 200 yards away, and the town centre is just a twenty-minute walk.
There are constant comings and goings. We are all busy. Our lives taking us in different directions going to work, school runs, evening classes and sporting events.
We chat with each other when we pass in the lane, walking our dogs, going for a jog or a cycle ride.
‘We’re overdue a catch-up!’ We say. ‘We must get together soon.’
In January, I was in full steam ahead writing-mode. I honestly believed I could finish book number two by the end of April. I was writing with a confidence I had never felt before, and it was a fantastic feeling. Unfortunately, my purple patch fizzled out about 3 weeks ago as the Coronavirus shit really began to hit the fan.
Perhaps I had been blinkered up to that point? Hoping Covid-19 would just go away.
Now just doesn’t feel like the right time to be writing a murder mystery spoof. So, it’s not actually the curse of the writer’s block that is to blame; it’s the Coronavirus Curse. The inability to focus on the writing that I love.
After an uplifting day in the sunshine yesterday, I made the mistake of checking for updates on the Government of Jersey’s social media account around midnight, and Jersey’s Heath Minister, Richard Renouf, had just posted. ‘ Sadly, this evening, I need to announce that a patient of ours who has Continue Reading