Coming off the back of a lovely weekend visiting dear friends, family and formidable godmothers; I had an uphill climb to produce enough material for two weeks and prepare for a well-earned break, to celebrate a significant milestone.  Initially, I was taking it all in my stride; knew what I had to do and how long I had to do it, but I could not quiet my mind. Day by day, the tasks seemed much bigger than they were when I was initially allocating time for them. Nothing I wrote felt like it came from a natural place, it seemed forced, I was at a loss and out of my comfort zone.

Deadline day arrives and with it, the focus to work with what I have.  There is enough material for one and a half instalments, less than I wanted, but that’s okay. I’ve worked with less. I stop being annoyed for not doing more writing, (I’ve written loads but not much I can use so far). I edit and improve what I have. It’s better and I can’t fathom why the writing felt so hard this week. Is it the weather, am I pushing too hard for perfection, is the topic too heavy, is it the pressure of complete control and subsequent fear that I may lose said control, or is it the myriad of unrelated writing tasks causing the angst?  They are all contributing factors; I may have a routine (of sorts) for writing, but it won’t always fit neatly around the rest of life. This is something else I have to get used to. Hopefully, a break may be the key to the patience I need.