Why is it that ambition always exceeds the reality of what can be achieved? My writing holiday is now a fast-fading memory, and I’m left wondering how I could have imagined I would have got  so much done (see my last post).

I’d hoped to get my latest novel to the first draft stage, but in the end, I didn’t get near. I’d hoped to write some short stories and some poems. I didn’t manage a single short story. I did knock out a couple of poems (coming soon, possibly). I had six days on my own, and I’d expected to get so much more done. But I realised early on I was expecting too much. The thing is, I was on holiday, in New South Wales, with miles of beautiful, often deserted beaches and vast tracts of rainforest and national parks all around me. In reality, I was never going to spend all day every day sitting down writing in what turned out to be rather dismal holiday apartments. I managed to get up early every morning (though I also went to bed early every night). I went out and about, saw places, went on long walks through bush-land and  forests, and along beaches; ran first thing most mornings, swam in the sea most days, went to the cinema, drank some damn fine coffee in some great cafes (forget BBQ’s – Australia is quite possibly the coffee capital of the world). And whilst I may not have got my first draft finished, I did make a lot of progress. I’d hoped to do some drawing too, but I only managed a couple of sketches, and then not until I’d got back to Sydney. Sometimes you just have to accept that things aren’t going to go the way you’d planned, and make a compromise. I did get a lot of writing done. But I also had a fabulous holiday, in a wonderful place.  I fell in love once more with the beautiful landscapes, the incredible flora and fauna, the warmth, the light and the sunshine. And I met some great people too. Time now to hunker down and struggle through what remains of this cold grey winter, to use what time I can find to finish the novel. But I’m dreaming of a land far away…