… when they’re not writing? Well, leaving aside the fact that some writers NEVER stop writing, I think the answer is that demob fever can take many forms. Some like to go into the great outdoors, some like to hibernate, some go on cruises and teach creative writing courses. Personally I’ve spent the past week like a kid in a candy store, spinning dizzily and greedily from one non-writing activity to another.

There’s been a lot of cooking. My biographers may some day refer to this as my Beetroot Period. But I’m nearly cooked out.  My husband today expressed a desire for a plain roast chicken. There’s also been a fair amount of up-catching  – our sash windows are now freshly sealed for winter, yellowing letters have been replied to, dead light bulbs have been replaced  – but I confess I ran out of domesticated steam before I got round to stitching up the hem on that skirt. And I’ve been reading.

 Being off the hook for a while work-wise I can of course read whatever I fancy but as this week wore on I found a definite trend developing. Something has caught my interest.  I think I know what I want to write about next.

No, I’m not going to say yet what it is. I don’t want to jinx things or rush into something I may later regret, but I can definitely feel a little bubble of excitement, fizzing around somehere between my heart and my brain. This is usually a good sign. I wonder if other writers experience it? I guess I’d better conduct a little survey. 

So that’s what this writer’s been doing while she’s not writing. Next week: where do flies go in winter?

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