Writing
I always love the idea of writing something new until I start trying to write it, at which point I am filled with the existential terror of the blank page. My agent knows when this is happening because he will start to get lots of panic-texts and memes from me. My spouse knows when this is happening because I am invariably discovered face down on the floor at home, vowing never to write anything again. In theory, I write in a potting shed covered with twinkling fairy lights, listening to the bellows of rutting stags coming from over the deer leap wall in Richmond Park. But my best work is usually done in my head when I'm out walking, or in cafes where I can scribble on post-it notes and the backs of used envelopes. Unfortunately I can rarely read my writing afterwards, so it’s not a perfect system, but I tend to get there in the end.
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