I know I shouldn't blame Hank for stuff but I am starting to get really cross about the non writing issue. I've finished a story I absolutely loved. Last year. Now I look at it and think it's 30,000 plus words of junk. I've written 50,000 plus words of the next Italian Knight - I have no ending for it. None. Nadda. Gone. The whole point in having a muse is that you have a prod from a magical source who gives up the goods to allow an author write. Hank apparently is telling me to chill. I don't wanna chill, I want to write. That's what makes me chill. I'm giving all my tried and tested things a go for help. Reading my family's books (BTP ladies are so freakin' talented, it makes me want to up my game!), listening to B.o.B, Calvin Harris, T.I., Florence and the Machine and Adele, taking long bus journeys. And nothin'. I've tried shopping - physical and internet, cooking, washing up. My characters are all apparently in Antigua without phone reception or WiFi. Selfish bastards. Well fine. I'm getting good old fashioned pen and paper. And stamps. And a sticker that says: RSVP FFS. Try and ignore me with Royal Mail and stickers on my side.
Hank's suggesting anger management. He's not funny.