Blocked!

I think I've heard or read this somewhere: Writing is one percent inspiration and ninety nine percent perspiration. Or maybe it was said about something else. It could apply to lots of things (ballroom dancing, pole-vaulting, gardening, sitting on the bus on a thirty-five degree day on the way to work and suddenly being inspired with the realisation that you forgot the deodorant) but I've done a lot of research into this writing thing and am now in a position to reveal the results, and here they are: WRITING is one percent thinking "I should get down to some writing today" and ninety nine percent desperately thinking of something, anything, else which is absolutely A1 top priority, can't be put off any longer, has to be done NOW - shucks, just when I was about to get down to some writing.

Imagine a pop-up picture book for a child; we could call it "Who lives here?" The pictures of the sparkly clean windows and perfectly pruned roses would be a dead giveaway. You can always tell the house of a procrastinator and would-be writers would have to be among the worst culprits. It's the little things that leap to the eye, the attention to detail: the tins and jars in the larder all colour and/or date coded, the hospital corners on the bed, the chairs arranged equidistantly around the table. The cat is brushed to within seven or eight of its lives, and is wearing a rather natty little bow. All hanging pictures are excruciatingly accurately straightened, there are no bills outstanding, and the books on the shelves are alphabetical, by author. Or maybe by size would be better. No, I know, by nationality. What's that bit of fluff there? Better get the vacuum cleaner out. Hmm, we do need some more bags, and while I'm out I can do the shopping, think about what's for dinner, and maybe go and have a coffee somewhere and think about getting down to some writing.

Ergo, bugger-all writing gets done. Of course, even if you are forced to admit defeat and are faced with the horrifying realisation that there is nothing for it but to sit down in front of the computer, all is not lost. By no means! You can use the time to perfect the art of gazing. I am an expert gazer. I could gaze at computer screens, out the window, at my fluffy toy collection, for hours. I could gaze for Australia. ("Oh just look at those glazed-over eyes, I do believe she's done it again. It's all over for the competition. Listen to that cheering, oh and look, that bouquet has hit her a daisy one, ha ha, and still she continues to gawp with her mouth open - let's hope there are no buses coming, Colin!") - sorry. Where was I?

Oh yes. Right, and then of course I have to check my emails. NOW. And I'd better get on the internet and do some research for that piece I wanted to write - wonder what pictures are on Webshots today? I just don't seem to be able to concentrate, maybe half an hour of meditation would help. What CD shall I listen to while I'm doing it? Good grief, these aren't even all facing the same way, and they're certainly not arranged in order of current preference or political leaning of the artist.

OK, that's much better, I'm calm and relaxed. Back to the PC. Was that the phone? No. Damn. OK, here we go.

Jeez, that screen is looking dusty...