Blocked

Many years ago now, I attended a writing course in London. At one point, the teacher sent us out to interview someone on the street and write a newspaper article from this.

So out I went, and looked at all the people passing by, and felt unable to approach any of them. Partly because I am a little shy, partly because Excuse me but would you mind talking to me so I can write a pretend newspaper article was just, well, lame. What would I ask them? What could I possibly write about someone out shopping?

There was a pedestrian tunnel under the road on which the college was located. Sitting on the ground in the tunnel was a girl, with a tin out for money.

I passed her a couple of times as I wandered around. She had caught my eye. But I lacked the nerve to approach her. And then, She is by far the most likely interesting person out here and if I'm going to write an article then I want it to be interesting, which means I just have to not be shy and go over and talk to her.

So I did. I sat down next to her, and we talked.

Her story was very sad.

The article I wrote was good.

The teacher - who until now hadn't liked anything I'd written - even praised it.

It was the only thing I wrote on the course that I liked too, because it was the only thing where the subject actually inspired me. Where I was writing not because I had to, but because I wanted to.

And that, really, is the point of this post, a point I've made before, I know, but the point all the same: there are times when I cannot write because I feel I have nothing interesting to say.

Like lately.

I really appreciate that you all keep coming back to see if I've posted something new, and I'm sorry if you're disappointed when I haven't, and I hope my voice will be back soon.