I'm trying to work on the outline for a new book, and making less progress than poor Sisyphus.
In fact, I might even cast him an envious look. At least he got somewhere with that boulder. Mine currently feels like it's stuck fast to the bottom of the hill.
A few years ago, when first I started trying to write, this sort of situation would be the cue for much wailing and anguish. It's true, I was very young when I first learnt the meaning of melodrama, and I've cherished the word ever since.
These days, life has taught me it happens. I've learnt, through annoying experience, that when the muse decides to go off for a wander all my flailing attempts to lure her back will be spurned, and as befits such a fickle creature the only thing to do is wait until she decides to wander back.
That's not to say it's anything other than frustrating. But at least I'm feeling irked with pursed lips and a glower, rather than a running around screaming episode.
Anyway, the point of this blog (you knew I'd come to it sometime?!), is that I've been wondering if the changing of the season and the harshening of the weather has been an influence on the absence of inspiration.
For all we like to think of ourselves as civilised and advanced creatures, in my humble view we humans are in essence animals, only with less hair (quite a lot less, in my case). I wonder if the darker, colder days are sapping my energy and inspiration in much the same way as they're leeching colour from the world around.
I'm doing my best to combat it. I've gone Xmas shopping, and bought myself some very fine presents (Happy Xmas to me, never mind you friends and family... did I mention I was an only child?), and I've found warmth and colour by sitting next to open fires in pubs and wearing whatever bright clothes I can find - usually ties and shirts - but it just ain't working.
So, this morning, when I've finished this ramble, it's back to a familiar liaison with an old friend; a blank sheet of paper and a wait more uncertain than that for a rural bus service.
I think I might just take myself for a walk, enjoy the endless run of the river, the squabbles and fuss of the geese and ducks, and the view of the Devon countryside. That's if I can see it in the gloom.
Yours, not entirely cheerily, for this grey Wednesday morning, hoping the weekend forecast for some sunshine comes to pass and the muse wafts my way with it...