Sometimes, when I’m visiting schools, I get asked “What’s it like, Being A Writer?" I’ve always found this difficult to answer, because there are so many moods to the task.
Recently, tidying some childhood books, it came to me. Being A Writer is like living in A.A. Milne’s original Hundred Acre Acre Wood, the world of the Sheppard illustrations. (Not that Mr Disney, thank you.)
There’s Tigger days, when you have lots of energy and drive, and your writing seems to be going well, and you are maybe unreasonably bouncy and self-centred.
There’s Winnie the Pooh days, when you plod along, often mistakenly, despite the limits of your poor brain but where you know the essential thing is to keep going, in a fog of hope, no matter what.
There’s Piglet days, when it’s all really, really a bit too much for you, and though you might have some good ideas, they might not turn out to be good ideas and could you please just have somebody’s paw to hold.
There’s Rabbit days, when you feel totally on top of things, and you’re actually rather well organised, and can get quite tetchy with friends and aquaintances who get in the way.
There’s Eeyore days when all you understand is deep, deep gloom, and you know nothing will go right because the whole world of books and publishing is against you, and there’s no point in trying anyway, because it will all go wrong.
There’s Owl days, when you’ve sure that you’ve hatched a very wise and praiseworthy plan, and when all your work seems to be the very best writing you’ve ever done, and accomplished and clever at that. Only others know differently.
There’s Kanga days, when you need to care for yourself, and do what’s best for you and your health and your general tidiness and well-being, because you know it’s good for you.
There’s Roo days when you’re just way too interested in all sorts of special things to settle to any writing at all.
And, thankfully, there’s Christopher Robin days, when you know that all these different friends need watching patiently and lovingly, and that all will probably be sorted out happily, and that the important thing is to have serious fun while you’re playing. Because there are far less happy places you could be.
Wonder what sort of day . . . or week . . . or month . . . you're writing through just now?