Frozen fingers and toes

The world is a lighter and brighter place this morning... or at least this corner of it is. We've probably had half an inch to an inch of snow settling over Leeds city centre this morning and dark roofs now lie white.

Downside: My toes are cold and I've just got told off by Mick in our office for wishing for more snow and more snow duly arriving.

Okay, enough of the weather, what else have I to blog about?

I'm now working on an audio-play called 'Heroes and Hobgoblins and Household Appliances' as well re-writing 'Balesley Green'. Rather excited about the possibilities for the former, most of which revolve around how much less work it will be than trying to do something similar on video. So much so that I'll probably go back and adapt 'The Jessica Fletcher Effect' for audio at some point, but because that was originally written to be watched rather than listened to, it'll need significant changes.

Lying in bed last night, I realised why this new project is causing the re-write of 'Balesley Green' to suffer. The trouble is that I know what happens in 'Balesley Green'. I don't need to dream up much that's new and that means it struggles to test my imagination when I'm not at the keyboard. This is why I found myself running through different possibilities for the next part of 'Heroes and Hobgoblins...' in bed last night, despite suggesting to Suw that I'd put the writing on hold so we could test out whether the format works first.

I've just gone to look for a 'Get Well Soon' e-card to send to my nephew out in Australia and naturally the intro page on Hallmark's site is emblazoned with pink and hearts and a reminder about Valentine's Day. Now, it was only the other day that I realised how many things I've deferred on the grounds of being single. I have films I've bought that have gone unwatched. I've never bothered to take my driving test. Boxes full of unused junk lie around the flat. All things undone because I didn't have anyone to do them with or do them for.

Yet... writing tends to be a solitary, selfish endeavour. It occupies the mind, it takes time and devotion and I suspect if there was a someone else, I would end up neglecting either them or the writing. And as illustrated above, I'm not sure if I can *not* write. Especially because all those worries and anxieties and petty neuroses that prey on the mind during the mundanity of day-to-day existence, they can't compete with the excitement of conjuring up a new story.

So, yes, sometimes I do rue being single on Valentine's Day, but not when I've got a new story to write.

Oh, and on a topic that involves less navel-gazing, but still a healthy dose of me: I came a miraculous second in Mr Stephen Fry's 'L' competition. This undoubtedly means I have peaked, but I'm okay with that, it means the pressure's off and I can fritter away the rest of my life without really trying.