I am sitting on our balcony overlooking the sea. The sun has already set but it is still fairly warm. My heart feels heavy. The thought of going back to England makes me feel slightly depressed already. The waves are lapping against the sand. There is a slight breeze. On Thursday I will already be back at work, driving a coach. It has been a great week here in Fuerteventura. The weather was nice, not too hot, around 24 degrees every day. We went for beach walks every day. I actually managed to do 10000 steps a day. It was easy here. At home it is such a struggle to reach that goal.
The past seven days have helped to re-charge my batteries. I wonder how long this elevated feeling will last? Thursday morning probably.
I thought I would use this week to write more. I wrote about 3 short stories in this time and added a few hundred words to my book. I thought getting away would jump start my enthusiasm and inspire me but it hasn’t really. I am waiting for a great idea to hit me or a eureka moment but maybe writing is just like any sort of sport or hobby: you have to practise and practise and practise until you get good at it.
2 thoughts on “Last night in paradise”
The mistake I made when I started writing was, I did not realise how much editing there is involved in a finished piece. It surprised me a lot when I learned that finished books are redrafted up to ten times before they reach the shelves. A blog post I saw recently explained that if you were starting to run you would be “crap” at first then with training you would slowly get better. It was the same for baking a cake or playing an instrument, practice, practice, and more practice. I get despondent when I read my work and it’s not “wow” but I couldn’t play the guitar without lessons or practice.
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