Morning is broken.

It can be a struggle, creativity. The urge to be creative, the feeling that you have something inside that the world might want to read. Sometimes you can feel stupid for even thinking that the thing inside might be worth reading at all. But the simple fact is that one can never know if the thing within them is worth reading unless it is placed out there in the world where somebody can actually fucking read it.

I have had lots of ideas. Written plenty of drafts. Only for those drafts to be set aside and ignored forever more. I have wanted to write a book for as long as I can remember and that is still what I want to do, it is what I am currently trying to do. I have, however, become stuck. Stuck in a rut, caught in a devious trap of my own making, although it is fair to say that I did not invent the trap.

I am blocked, I am procrastinating, I am finding ever new and interesting ways with which to waste the precious time that I have available to me for creation. This morning I woke at 6am, intending to have this (well, actually, intending to have something much better than this) written by seven o'clock. What did I actually do, I procrastinated, I rolled around, I watched videos of people at my snooker club knocking in breaks that I can only dream of knocking in. I eventually got up at seven-thirty and I nearly didn't sit and do this, only, in the end, I did.

In this very small way, I have beaten my demon. He may have won the first round but I managed to get him in the second.

I am hoping that this post will be the first of many. Their purpose is to get my words into the world because I think that this act will make me more likely to write what I need to write.