There is no future…

…seriously, think about it.

“How can the past and future be, when the past no longer is, and the future is not yet? As for the present, if it were always present and never moved on to become the past, it would not be time, but eternity.”

Augustine of Hippo, Confessions

…fuck – there’s no such thing as past or present either! We’re doomed!

What I’m trying to say is that promising yourself you’ll do something in the future is ridiculous. When you’re doing it, it will be the present (which for arguments sake we’ll pretend still exists) – so unless you have the mother of all reasons for putting something off you’ll still be in exactly the same situation.

There is no ‘right’ time to write. You will never be in the perfect mood, with the perfect amount of free time, and have the perfect story shooting out of fingertips like rainbows shoot out of unicorns bum cheeks.

For instance, I’ve just sold my house and after a couple of weeks searching have finally found a new place to rent. While I was house hunting I couldn’t possibly write (pfft), and now I have to wait a month until I can move in I’ll be far too antsy to sit down and prose hard, like a motherfucker (ha!).  I’m sure I could even come up with some decent excuses once I’ve settled into my new place as well. I don’t have the right desk, the new carpet is affecting my feng shui, the alignment of the planets is off…etc.

While none of these will physically stop me from writing – I can convince myself that the writing won’t be as good if I have something else on my mind. As if there’s some magical switch that will turn everything else off. As if successful writers with jobs, children, or health problems can instantly forgot all those things 100% and dive, Inkheart style, into their novels. Yes, they can focus their efforts, and get the hell on with it but I don’t think anyone can truly block out the real world in its entirety. There will always be some niggling thought worming its way around your grey matter. There will always be some problem waiting to pounce on you the second you stand up from the keyboard to crack your back.

There will always be a better time to write.

But why the hell are you going to let that stop you?!

Embrace the worries and the doubts and the fears and the pain and the ‘oh my Christ donkey bollocks, I could be watching TV instead’ and plonk your arse in that chair.

Fuck the desk, fuck the carpets, fuck the planets – figuratively speaking, of course, nobody wants carpet burns or Jupiter chafe down there – and write.

Write as if your career depends on it, and if it doesn’t then why the hell are you reading my blog at 14:07 on a Friday? Get back to work, you lazy bum!

Back to it, slacker!

Sorry, me, I’m far too busy to write.

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