There are days when I have no desire to write. If I so much as read the jumbled words of my story-to-be my eyes grow weary and my thoughts dissipate like hand-cupped sand. It’s frustrating, tiring and utterly confidence shattering.
There are many ways I have tried to breathe life back into my keyboard: coffee, walks, imaginary flings. But perhaps the best life force is inspiration. In particular, I turn to my favourite female writers. I read aloud their short stories and extracts and I focus on their rhythm, their images and their intent. Some passages haunt me (the turkey-gobble cry of the grandmother in O’Connor’s A Good Man is Hard to Find) and others break me (the final phone conversation in Duras’ The Lover), but they all affect me and they all encourage me to keep tapping.