Apparently starting to write again after little or no creative output for several months, is not like climbing back onto a bike after a lengthy absence and it doesn't all come flooding back to you, more's the pity. Far from it in actual fact. After clearing my desk the weekend before last and making my writing space as pleasant and convivial as possible I had high hopes of sitting down and the words flowing again early Monday morning, a new masterpiece half complete by lunchtime. Sadly lunchtime came and went all too quick and all I had to show for my morning's work was one and a half pages of utter drivel that any self-respecting 7 year old would be ashamed of. The idea I was trying to mould into a story was sound enough but the words that appeared on the page and were then deleted time after time, were forced and had no flow to them. Simply put it was like pulling teeth or walking through treacle.
It did improve, however, as the week wore on and whilst the words and indeed the story I was left with by the end of the week is poor in my opinion, the green shoots of recovery were there to be seen if you looked closely enough. At this rate by the end of the week I might be stringing together a few acceptable sentences you never know.
I'm probably being hard on myself I know - what writer isn't? I'm probably expecting too much of myself straightaway and I need to view the road back as an athlete would coming back from a lengthy lay-off due to injury. Small patient steps with small achievable targets is what is required, not unrealistic targets the failure to achieve which will serve no purpose other than to demotivate me.
So that's what it's to be. Little bite sized bits of writing until I'm back to speed. Then and only then will I dust off the manuscript which is 30 000 words strong that had me so excited earlier in the summer before events overtook me.
The road back has begun and my writing muscles can only get stronger.