When I had a proper job a small part of it was a weekly column in a local paper. I wrote it for 22 years and one day they changed the format of the paper, and no longer wanted my copy. I stopped writing altogether. It was dead easy when I was in the habit, 400 words took no more than 20 minutes to write. I was very depressed about the way the paper treated me, I was actually the longest serving contributor and had seen off three editors in my time there.
I found out I had got a bit of a following only really after I stopped doing it.
One day a year ago I was persuaded to write something. I found it a real struggle to get going, and it was really faltering, but I was cajoled until I had completed what I set out to do.
The reason for sharing this here now is I have just seen the cover and in a month I will have published a fucking book.
The writing bug has come flooding back, and I have a manuscript for the second and more ambitious book already written. That could only have happened because of changing my lifestyle. I can now sit and think. It is a real luxury, just sitting, thinking and suddenly having a few words to put down. Then doing it again. Cycling is a great place to do some of that thinking, and I find myself riding for no other reason than to create another page.
Frankly, all the ones with a modus operandi get found out eventually, the police patiently gather data on you over years that they never understand until a brilliant new detective comes along who works it all out.
When I had a proper job a small part of it was a weekly column in a local paper. I wrote it for 22 years and one day they changed the format of the paper, and no longer wanted my copy. I stopped writing altogether. It was dead easy when I was in the habit, 400 words took no more than 20 minutes to write. I was very depressed about the way the paper treated me, I was actually the longest serving contributor and had seen off three editors in my time there.
I found out I had got a bit of a following only really after I stopped doing it.
One day a year ago I was persuaded to write something. I found it a real struggle to get going, and it was really faltering, but I was cajoled until I had completed what I set out to do.
The reason for sharing this here now is I have just seen the cover and in a month I will have published a fucking book.
The writing bug has come flooding back, and I have a manuscript for the second and more ambitious book already written. That could only have happened because of changing my lifestyle. I can now sit and think. It is a real luxury, just sitting, thinking and suddenly having a few words to put down. Then doing it again. Cycling is a great place to do some of that thinking, and I find myself riding for no other reason than to create another page.