I was all set to get back into everything. The first week that the kids and wife had been back saw me working on location in the day job. So this week was a chance to dive right into everything. I did my usual Autumn Clean (kind of like a spring clean, for people whose mess tolerance only lasts six months) and today was meant to be day one of the job.

Then this happened…

There’s always a reason things don’t happen. This time it was a poorly daughter (and a needy cat who had to get in on the action.) A week of school was enough for her to contract what we knew of at Uni as Fresher’s Flu. You know the bugs you get in early September as everyone starts circulating again. My daughter seems to come a cropper for it more often than not. So it wasn’t a surprise. At least I wasn’t on a gig with the day job, but of course, you know we’d both rather I was writing.

And this is one of the things you have to be prepared for when you’re a writer. Especially if you’ve got a family. Your best laid plans will be abruptly cancelled at the last moment. Even your less than best laid plans, the routines that you try to adhere to on a daily basis are going to be offset by sports classes, parents evenings, children’s parties. The list goes on. There’s always something. It’s why take massive umbrage to the notion that you should try and write every day. I’m not writing today. By the time my wife is finished work, dinner will be on, then I’m off to football training. Then I’m having a cuppa, watching half an hour of telly, reading (at the moment it’s Bad Blood by Luke Deckard. If you dig noir, this is for you. I’m loving it.), then sleep.

Could I spare fifteen minutes to throw some words into a document? Sure. Would any of it be a worthwhile exercise? Hell, no. Almost all of it will be deleted. It won’t move anything on. I’ve got it all planned out. I’d just end up redoing it and I’m not a fan of treading old ground. So when I don’t want to write, I simply don’t. And I hate the notion that I should in anyway feel guilty for that. 

I won’t tar everyone who shares that advice with the same brush. I’m sure it’s all very well meaning. I wonder how many of the people who say it, truly write 365 days a year. (366 this year.) I wonder how many have other past times? Young families? Day jobs? Or maybe they simply can’t bring themselves to write for a multitude of personal reasons. I hate saying it’s a classist and ableist trope, because I don’t think everyone who says it, says it from a position of privilege, but I do think it’s one of those soundbites that’s easy to reel off, because it makes you look like a committed writer.

Speaking of ableist and classist, I can’t not talk about the latest debacle at NaNoWriMo, who this week decided that they’d like to proverbially shat the bed by suggesting that anyone who was against AI was classist and ableist. They’ve since added a disclaimer paragraph that broadly speaking says, some AI good, some AI bad. It doesn’t seem to have a difference however and there is a clamour to boycott NaNoWriMo across social media.

I struggle to understand that. Not the feeling towards AI. I get it. Not the feeling towards NaNoWriMo for their illogical stance on it. Get that too. What I don’t get is why people are suggesting that this is the line in the sand.
Last year, some pretty horrific allegations were made regarding a moderator and child sexual exploitation. The scandal there and the apparent malaise that surrounded the response was enough for me to decide that was a community that I didn’t need to be a part of. 

So if this November, you fancy writing fifty thousand words, just go for it. There’s an incredible community of writers out there on social media who will encourage and facilitate you. You don’t need to be on any one platform. Or if you just fancy writing fifty pages, or fifty words, then do it. And if you just fancy writing whatever you want, whenever the hell you want to, give me a shout. Because that’s how I roll, each and every month. Apart from the months I can’t be arsed.