Edmund Lester

I think 2017 has to be my most unlucky year for illnesses for decades (I still put the year of three surgeries as a worse one). I seem to have picked up every bug I could during 2017 culminating with flu a month ago and (depending on opinion) a very heavy cold or different flavour of flu in the past week. All I know is it's curtailed a lot of the normal activity I would expect - i.e. writing. I did recover enough though to pop down to Torquay for the weekend just gone - although it was only barely. I really didn't do much whilst I was down there. I certainly can't say I saw all that much of Torquay beyond the inside of one hotel and two restaurants. The drive back was a bit better. We stopped at a number of seaside towns, keen to get just one more glimpse (after another) of the sea before heading back to the landlocked county of Leicestershire and home. One of the most fun and yet frustrating stops had to be Budleigh Salterton. (Yes, it's a great name.) I have no

I think I am mostly up to date now on all the stuff that was delayed because of losing a week to the flu. Well everything except the writing that is. I had to do all that other stuff - the work stuff and house stuff,  the parts of my life that pays the bills after all - before I could dedicate some time to writing again. And then I had to try to find some momentum. I am a momentum kind of writer. I know this. And a confidence kind of writer. For some reason, despite having written eleven novels, one of which has been published and another of which is due out in 2018, I still struggle when faced with the screen/keyboard to convince myself I can do this. I manufacture reason after reason to not do any actual writing - last minute tasks that I simply must do and then I can write. It's just procrastination I know, procrastination based on fear. In some ways it's quite odd. I create computer systems during my work day that the entire business of the company I work for relies on