So, I have sat up nights upon nights with fear and confusion gnawing at my middle and running rampant through my mind. I have mused, considered, examined and dropped countless fruitful and futile ideas. I have cried. I have decided. I have been disappointed and frustrated at the results of those decisions. I have felt as if I could make no choices without the most sincere counsel from my own college of specialists. I have whinged, wailed, whimpered and whined. I have pondered in silence. I have escaped in novels and in the garden. I have rung my mother. I have now come to face the facts, I have reached a state of contented bliss and well-being which can only arise from  a correct decision well made. I have chosen penmanship.

In truth, I began work on a series of fantasy novels when I was around fifteen, and have been fiddling and compiling, map-drawing and plot-forming in those odd snatches of time between degrees. But I have never had the time, or possibly the desire, to devote a specific stretch of my life to a keyboard. I’ve never been ready to just sit and bleed (as Hemingway so truthfully said). With one Masters off the table, and the other temporarily financially inexpedient, I am in limbo. The risk to my health and passable security is too great to consider jumping to full-time, or even part-time, work. So I am stuck, for the next sixteenth months or so, in a sort of achievement-less, purposeless, void of soulless, mind-numbing inanity. Bliss, to most people apparently, though I would challenge anyone to enjoy two years with no job, no people, no money, no T.V. and horrendous ill-health. So, I have taken a cognitive prayer, an emotional deep-breath, and decided to devote the next twelve months to writing something publishable.

Though of course, I sit down to write my novel #DayOne and find that my USB stick (containing my entire fantasy database of the past decade) is noticeably absent. So after re-drafting my map…


… I have no place to go until I recover the data. But no fear! It seemed pointless angsting over something that will inevitably emerge in a peculiar place, so instead I have decided to expand my ‘Homer’s Odyssey: Astronomical Epic‘ thesis (sitting pretty at 15,000 words circa 19th April) into a book which I will attempt to publish. ‘Tisn’t fantasy, mind you, but it IS certainly comprehensively publishable. And I so love writing it. There is nothing better than the electric cerebral rush that comes with making a new discovery. It hardly matters that the genre is so obscure that nobody will understand it if I told them, what matters is that I know it is there, and that the universe (well, the Archaic Grecian Universe, at least) has been made just a little bit tidier.

So I have sat, and typed, and read, and highighted, and printed, drunk copious amounts of tea, and sung. Loudly. I am now the proud owner of five chapters from the second section of my proposed masterpiece, and the mother of 21,038 words of intellectual obscurity, I think wonder may largely depend on your point of view as a reader. The fact is though, my backside aches, my spine feels twisted, and my shoulders feel as if they have rolled over onto my breasts, I am so content. I feel productive, I feel useful. I can barely stand to leave my desk, and get piqued when someone has the audacity to phone or text me. Five days ago I was so dreadfully alone, so woefully bored, and so terribly depressed. But now, my artificial pen has hit the cyber paper and I am free.

If YOU want to contribute to my novels, then fill in this single question questionnaire to choose the names for the nomad tribes of Saäg who forever wander the desert of Jotnar-Feldur:

*This blog post has been moved from womeninecstasy.wordpress where it was posted in 2014