A writing or writer's holiday

They say never go back. Nothing is ever as good as we remember. Sometimes they're right. I went to Scotland last year, to a hotel we went to years and years ago and had always wanted to return to and it wasn't the same. Mostly, because there were fewer red squirrels because they had cut down a lot of the trees. I also went back to the Lake of Menteith and Inchmahome Priory a few years ago and it was nowhere near as magical as the first time. But that place had grown to near mythic-like status in my mind, so much so, I constantly wear a ring on my left hand I bought there to remind me of the place and it helps me when I'm anxious; it centres me, grounds me and brings me serenity, taking me back to the first time I went there and luckily the second time hasn't marred the memory of bright sunshine after a rainy morning; the clouds literally parted as we got there; having the island almost to ourselves and the instant peace I felt as soon as I stepped off the boat and onto the island. I never take the ring off, even when I'm having a panic attack and all my jewellery and some clothes have to come off as it all feels constricting, that ring always stays on.

The Lake of Menteith and Inchmahome, so serene

However I'm returning to an area of the world I haven't been to for almost 20 years: Carmarthernshire. I went to Aberystwyth, Machynlleth and Ceredigion as recently as five years ago; Aberystwyth is where I did my library degree; but not further south. I love those three place names, spelling them, without help I might add, and mentally sounding them out. We had a favourite resort we stayed in many times near Laugharne, the home of the poet Dylan Thomas. We're not staying there as that would be a nostalgic step too far, but we will go back to Laugharne. I hope it lives up to the treasured memories. The last time we were there, I didn't have a digital camera, a mobile phone or any technology really other than a Tamagotchi! I'm hoping it will help clear my mind, shake off this fug and blow away this mental fog.

Laugharne beach

Basically I'm hoping this Easter holiday is going to force out this writer's block. Yes, I'm finally admitting I have writer's block. For me, that phrase makes me think about a lack of ideas, fear of the blank page and procrastination. However writer's block is at heart about a loss of confidence, fear of not being good enough and, okay, procrastination. Anyway, I've written about writer's block before and far more eloquently.

Mental veil

It feels like there's a veil between me and the world right now, where I'm existing, not living. I'm not experiencing anything other than on a shallow level, not making enough ties, bonds or relationships. Nothing is reaching me, tugging at my heart, funny bone or tear ducts. Apart from watching Harry Hill and Martin Kemp on Bake Off which did all three. Is it worrying that people I will never meet incite reactions far beyond those from the people I love and care about? It's difficult to explain, but I've felt this way many times during my life, sometimes so much I convince myself I'm an automaton, sometimes its only momentary. But this mental weather has set in. So, onward to Wales and forging deeper connections.

Writer's block

I wrote a poem on my cycle to work:

On Autumn days when my breath masks the crisp blue sky
On Autumn days when the leaves colour the cold hard ground
On Autumn days when the frost nips the edges of everything

On Autumn days when Summer loses its battle to survive
These are the days when I feel most alive

I don't get writer's block. Well, not the block where I can't think what to write, just sitting staring at the blank page. Once I have a pen and paper in front of me, you can't stop me. So much so I've missed meals, alarms and bedtime. But I do get writer's block in that I don't even have a blank page in front of me to be afraid of. I don't get that far. Incidentally, the fear of the blank page is Vacansopapurosophobia. Don't ask me how to pronounce it.

Anyway, I don't have a blank page as I've already written parts of my book: I have the title, the characters, the plot, the chapters and the first paragraph. So I'm not even scared of the blank page. I'm scared of something far bigger than that, something that goes far deeper, something so profoundly terrifying I can't even sit down to write. I've always identified as a writer and longed to be published, I've always found it easy to write and I've always had ideas on what I want to write about. But now I'm actually on my way to being a writer, I just can't bring myself to do it. I'm being pummelled by what if's. What if I'm not as good as I think I am? What if my idea is rubbish? What if my years of not writing have dried up my writing abilities?

Something that has helped is that writing project I've mentioned. My piece has been accepted and I'm now a paid writer! I just have to wait and see what they do with my work. I'm determined to get this book written and I will bring myself to get started... soon.