Well run dry

mayanPacuxGuatemala

August is traditionally the down month in publishing. It’s when all the merry little agents and editors take a well-deserved break: no conferences are arranged, no junkets junked. Business essentially stops for a month.

This, at least, is what I’ve been told. I’m sure times have moved on, now, and there are now no rests for anyone, wicked or not. But you do still hear the old advice not to submit any work in August because no-one’s gonna read it.

So if you’re going to pick a month where you achieve nothing, you might as well make it August. Likely enough no-one else is doing anything either. Nothing worthwhile, at least: what good are holidays or spending time with the family anyway? Stupid unproductive wastes of time.

This is, of course, a joke. Just spelling it out in case my wife reads this.

All this is an unnecessarily convoluted way of saying that it’s not been a great month for me. I’ve had some personal issues that have made it hard to be my usual ebullient self on Twitter – and this matters, to me at least – and I feel like my well has drawn dry.

I know this is a phase: that everyone goes through it; that inspiration does not work according to schedule. Indeed, this is my only justification for saying this here – that sometimes you feel like you’re the only person in the world that experiences these things. Sorry if that makes you feel less special, you beautiful and unique snowflake, you. But if it helps reassure anyone, good.

Writing is a difficult, painful thing. It doesn’t take much to knock a writer off his stride: all manner of things the reader will never see. Rejection is the obvious, but writers are (mostly) human beings – all the things that can disrupt you can get to them as well.

Anyway, there’s no point moping. Sometimes the only thing to do is to suck it up and get back to it. So back I go into the land of tinkerisation, of editing a book that might need sweeping changes and not the little rephrasings I’m able to provide.

My mojo will return. I’ll wake up one morning brimming with inspiration and I’ll pour words onto the page like the metaphor that metaphors metaphoringly.

Today is not that day.