As soon as I wake up I know if I’m in a writing mood or not.  It’s hard to put my finger on how I know. If my head is clear and thoughts float in and then away again in a relaxed way, then that’s a good sign. Another good signal is feeling positive when I walk into my study. I am lucky with this space; it’s a light and bright upstairs room with a view of our street and tall trees in the park beyond.

I don’t have a routine. When I’m in a writing frame of mind I write, and when I’m not I don’t try. A session of chain coffee drinking and failed attempts at crafting anything decent is not good for the soul. I might choose a walk in the park instead; I have a special place where I sit and look out over a lake. There’s a lot of bird life there; geese, swans, coots, moorhens and mallards come for a morning chat. I might catch the conversation of walkers as they pass by my bench or see a “twitcher” hunkered down by the lake shore, zoom lens at the ready.

On my way home, I am probably wondering if I’ll ever get this book of mine finished. And even if I do, if anyone is going to want to read it. But the compulsion to return to the story, to the world which has sprung out from the typed pages, is too strong. I begin to miss the people in my imaginary playground if I leave them for too long. I am drawn back to my writing room. When I get there, I feel like Peter Pan in Neverland. It’s a place where amazing adventures can happen; all I have to do is let my thoughts run free.