Even if you are a best-seller you feel insecure because it is all so unpredictable – Patricia Cornwell

Now, I’m an averagely upbeat kind of person – I have a few low days, I have my share of high days, but the majority of my days are somewhere in the middle, and for the most part I’m capable of viewing life’s glass as half-full.  But sometimes, this writing lark gets the better of me …

March has been testament to the unpredictability of life as a writer.  Whilst I had good intentions of making headway with my next novel, publicity demands for my forthcoming book Summer of ’76 conspired to hijack my attentions.  As new requests for articles, edits and interviews arrived, I was conflicted with emotions of relief (phew, the book media are interested) and anxiety (how will I ever fit in the real writing?).

Determined to write a little each day, I found myself staring at my notebook early one morning, only to be overwhelmed by a crushing crisis of confidence in my next story.  I was at once creatively scuppered and consumed with doubt.

Although it’s horrible whenever this happens, I’ve being writing for long enough to know that it’s a fairly standard part of my process – writing – questioning – deep thinking – eureka – distraction – doubt – more deep thinking – eureka – writing – questioning – and so on … I live for those eureka moments, by which I mean not only the sublime discoveries of story or character, but also those serene moments when you know the writing is good, when it all starts to make sense.  It’s what Gustave Flaubert described as his ‘great days of sunlight’.  Oh, for some sunlight!

Knowing I was creatively done-for, I decided to give myself over to the business end of writing, figuring if I couldn’t get inspired, I’d get productive.  So, I got stuck into writing my articles, returning them ahead of deadlines; I proofread my essay for Karen Steven’s forthcoming anthology, Writing a First Novel; I dipped a toe into the surprisingly enjoyable world of Pinterest; I bit the bullet and bought myself a new laptop and printer (the old ones being on their last legs); I signed up to Authorgraph, a nifty site where e-book readers can request signed dedications from their favourite authors; and finally, I filed.  By the end of all this, so gratified was I by all I’d achieved that I found myself restored to a positive state of mind where creativity might thrive.

Of course, I regularly have to remind myself that all-work-and-no-play-makes-Isabel-a-dull-writer.  So, this month I made sure we did lots of good family things: we visited Covent Garden to see the spectacular musical Matilda and catch up with old pals; we ferried over to the Isle of Wight for Mother’s Day and froze our faces off high up above the breathtaking Tennyson Down; I met up with my sister at the V&A for the awe-inspiring David Bowie is exhibition; and this weekend we’ll look forward to a walk in the hills and Sunday lunch with close friends.  All good for raising the spirits!

I’ve reached the end of my month having made a weighty dent in the To-do list, and my desk looks almost clear for landing.  Now there must be no more prevarication – I must strap myself to the keyboard, let the housework slide, embrace solitude … and write!

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