A little rain

Oh, there are sunny days and rainy days, there are rise-with-the-lark days and please-an-extra-hour days.

There are days of ease and days of grind. There are days of inspiration and days of nothing.

There are days of multitudes and days where the same sad and solitary note tolls like the bell at evensong.

They don’t mean much, these grizzly days. Or if they mean anything, they are most likely to mean “Oh, I’m coming down with an infection” or “all this house- and family-admin is doing my head in; I need a break.”

But that’s not necessarily how we interpret them. Because we’re idiot humans, we’re more likely to interpret a lousy day as:

• I’m a rubbish writer
• This book is hopeless
• My entire Work In Progress should be jettisoned
• This idea is basically a bad one
• No agent or publisher or reader will ever want this
• Only extremely well-connected people called Charlotte or Tamara or Persephone ever get agents and I’m not even called something sort of OK like Emma or Caroline or Rosalind. As a matter of fact, I’m called Jason, and what’s the use of that?

In the end, though, you have to be grimly realistic about these things. This is about rigorous mind management, not some wishy-washy getting in touch with your feelings process.

Your very first task is to acknowledge the truth. You’re feeling bad. That’s almost certainly nothing to do with the book. It’s just a passing mood (or a coming flu, or a sign that you’re tired, or a hint that you need to deal with other parts of your life, or you need a holiday, or whatever.)

If you’re in that place, then don’t even think about making decisions about your book. Quite the opposite. Just assume as fact that every negative thought you hold about your book and your writing is so much horse poo. You can’t make useful decisions from that place. It’s like trying to steer a car when the wheel will only turn one way.

So deal with the underlying issue. The flu, the bills that need paying, the school problem that needs addressing, whatever it is. Address that stuff first.

And don’t bring blame into it. Don’t heap guilt onto whatever other burdens you are already carrying. Why give yourself the heartache?

Yes, OK, you might have an ethic which is 2 hours writing every day, or a minimum of 10,000 words a week, or whatever else. And yes, a big part of the purpose of those commitments is that they have a rain or shine quality to them. You don’t have to want to do it, you just have to do it.

But – be gentle on yourself. Be kind.

There are days when really the bed is calling you. Let it. You won’t write good words on those days. The two hours you spend in a front of a screen are two hours further from rest and recovery.

Please use this email as a FREE PASS to discharge yourself from writing duties whensoever you want. No guilt. No anxiety. No self-blame.

(Do we need to place a cap on that pass? Well, OK, maybe. So you can use this pass up to 30 times a year. After that, you need a doctor’s certificate.)

Is that a deal? And, by the way, I rather hope it is, because I’m having a rainy old day myself. I think I’m coming down with something. I can’t face a normal monster email. I’m going to issue myself and redeem a free pass in the one same email.

Please do the same. Whenever you want. And without guilt.