It was after the ten minutes in which I was debating whether the dog staring out of the cottage window in town today was stuffed like the cat next to it (given the position of the cat – climbing a dead tree branch balanced on the sill of the window – I knew the feline had definitely met with the skilled hand of a taxidermist), that I realised I was procrastinating. With Hashtag Rewilding and On Midwinter Hill both finished and submitted to publishers, I have embarked on a new piece of fiction with the working title of We Are Gathered. The plot has been sussed, research done, scenes organised, and yet I am putting off the actual pen-to-paper, once-upon-a-time, beginning. I cannot think of a logical reason for this (if you can, please let me know). I’m not scared of doing it, it is not writer’s block, yet even as I try to explain it here I am aware that still I have not begun.

The story will not write itself, so please excuse me.