I think it was P.G. Wodehouse who once said something like, “writing is very straightforward. All you have to do is stare at a blank piece of paper until spots of blood form on your forehead”. Right now I know just how he feels. The deadline for the Elvis book is lumbering over the horizon at increasing velocity and my words-per-day quota is falling well short of intended targets.
I’ve no idea why it’s such a struggle as I’ve been fortunate enough to meet some brilliant people and see some amazing things on the Elvis trail, but I am finding this book harder to write than any I’ve written before. At the moment a trained monkey could probably get the thing done better than I could. Even looking at this doesn’t seem to help.
Still, tomorrow I get to leave the house for what seems like the first time since the Dead Sea was just a bit poorly to record a pilot programme for Radio 4, which should be fun. Assuming all goes well the series would go out in the autumn, they tell me.
Meanwhile, why not find out which Bob Dylan song you are?