It gets busy. You know how it is. You bumble around, nothing quite clicks, there’s no real pressure and the weather is really, really dispiriting.

Then you look at your diary (old school paper version) and realise that the magazine articles you enthusiastically pitched at the start of the year – and even drafted slightly – are due in two weeks.

Of course.

At first, it’s a drag. The world’s in a conspiracy against you. You need MORE TIME. And a cup of tea and a biscuit and a tidy desk. And a blanket.

Oh please. Just write the things.

So you start slowly with the points made in the rush of ‘oh, fantastic! They want my stories!’ bliss, and the world gets lighter and less words are deleted and it’s how it’s all meant to be…not all the time, but when you actually do what you are meant to do.

You write.
You research.
You tell stories that give people a spark in their day.

And it’s nearly spring.

The world is getting brighter – camellias at winter’s close

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