In the past few months I've learnt so many things. I've learnt that it is stressful putting your family home up for sale. I've learnt if you clear all the books and paper out of your office it makes it look bigger. And I've learnt that my writing mind just disappears when I've got a lot on in real life. Making you question whether you're a real writer at all.
It took me a while to learn that it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if you have a few weeks off writing because you're dealing with estate agents, solicitors and banks. It doesn't matter if you can't write because all you can think about is houses, new schools and what on earth do I do with an aga.
Writing has been my saviour when struggling with inner demons. It has given me purpose and structure to my day. It has given me an escape. It has provided me with new friends. But mostly it has given me enjoyment and a feeling of achievement.
When writing isn't an enjoyment because real life is intruding, and I'm just staring at the keyboard or mindlessly surfing the web, then it's ok to take a walk. Soak up the sounds of the birds singing, observe the way the river looks after a heavy period of rain. Walk through the town and listen to voices. Real life dramas being replayed in front of you whilst you sip a cup of coffee.
And guess what? Now I've learnt all of that I feel I can write again. I feel I've given myself permission to worry about other stuff but now I want to open my notebooks and pull out my special pen.
Yes, writers do write. But maybe not whilst selling their family home.