What the hell am I talking about? It's that project I started almost two years ago. That thing called a book that I was interested in writing. The one that I'd done a large slab of, and then had wiled away time with excuses and blocks. I was literally stuck. And now I'm unstuck.
I've studied writing literature, in fact, according to my course convenor, I should be eligible for an exemption and have my Graduate Certificate in Writing soon. They tell you that 'writer's block' is a myth. That the white page can be overcome, that it's just a case of working through it with rigour and exercise.
All of that might be true, but when you're writing about yourself and the colourful life you've lived, certain sensitivities come to fruition that impede progress. It was these sensitivities that prevented me from going any further with my tale, and it's languished as a result. Part of me knew that moving here might give the creative juices a creative kick-start, I just didn't know it would come after having a shit of a day on my least favourite day of the week.
It's not like I was struck by a lightning bolt, I have been investing a lot of thought on how to attack my life's subject matter and translate it into the rest of the book since I came here, but I think the long weekend helped significantly. Typically I'd be socialising almost exhaustively on a holiday weekend, but this weekend was filled with introspection and enjoying my own company.
Then today, a quote from a dear friend of mine popped into my head and gave me the kick in the pants I needed. It encapsulated everything I was about and gave me license to invoke the key-typing fingers of fury again.
What's the quote?
I guess you'll have to read the book to find out. But I promise it will be finished.