Writing Up A Storm


I’ve been writing almost non-stop lately, apart from my daily walk, or tricycle ride. Writing for my websites as well as my books means writing, writing and more writing. My lovely, dog,  Sheba makes sure I never get to miss a walk, her sad eyes always guilt-propel me off the chair, no matter what I am writing.


What Sheba doesn’t know, or maybe she does, is that I am compelled to walk. Having had the ability to walk taken from me several times through accidents. I feel like every step I take now is a celebration of my mended leg. I must walk and luckily I love to walk – wonkily or not!

I often meet the same people on my walks. I think we are kindred spirits. Like bikers exchanging nods on the road, walkers exchange looks that acknowledge each other compulsions as we pass each other, time and time again.


When I return to my writing I feel renewed. It is like starting my writing day again. I am convinced that rather than losing writing time to walking, the walks increase my creative output.

I frequently get new ideas from what I see as I walk and although I may not use them at the time, I do store them away for future use.

A couple of days ago I encountered a fisherman sorting his oyster catch by grading them into large and small. To do this he has set up a little workstation near his boat at the pier. I couldn’t resist taking a photograph and the fisherman happily posed.


It was a calm but rainy day and both I and the fisherman were close to the edge of the pier. You can see that this man clearly enjoys his work – like me.

But this was the calm before the storm. The Atlantic can be furious and the next day, this same place was completely covered in water as huge waves whipped the pier. Many boats were smashed against its walls. I hope this fisherman’s boat wasn’t one of them.

For a writer, an event like this produces ideas, as like it or not, life can change in an instant and change is where drama is born.

Right now, I am not writing anything about the ocean, or fishermen, or floods but I do have a feeling that one day I will. Compulsion, like the waves of the Atlantic is difficult to control.

For more from my diary click here.


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