My choice

Here's a little known secret, and one that recently saved my marriage of fifteen years: love is a choice. If you practice it even while you don't feel it, it's entirely possible to experience a gradual restoration of what was there before, and you wake up one day and suddenly it's all come back.

Sometimes things can slide. I haven't done much of my own writing over the last nine months. Plenty of essays, but not much for myself. So over the last couple of months I've been looking forward to finishing my study so I could get on with writing my novel, and work on the couple of short stories I have on the boil.

Only now my final paper is out of the way, and study is over until September, I find myself in a kind of involuntary hiatus. What happened? Four weeks ago I was itching to write, and now I just can't be arsed. It's not writer's block - I don't believe in that - I just don't feel like doing it.

Someone said to me once that you should only write when you feel like it, otherwise the pleasure quickly goes. But I think sometimes it's important to push on through that. Because what if the desire never comes back? That's not a nice thought, is it?

Time I choose to write, I suppose.

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