The secret of flying is to throw yourself at the ground and miss, according to The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams. I find writing fiction is a bit like that. If I’m walking the dog, straining peas or trying to sleep, the words and ideas will, inevitably, flow.
So I have notebooks: a tiny one in the pocket of my waterproof; an A5 one in my bag; one by my bed; and a pile of scrap-paper in the kitchen. I perch on garden walls, write in parks, at the kitchen table and on trains.
These notes are usually connected to something I’m working on: my novel or a short story. Any that aren’t relevant to ongoing work, I put in a cigar box on my desk to develop later.
But notebooks are pointless unless I sit down at my desk to write every day. I need to work on things consistently so that it’s all ticking over in my mind.
Like most freelancers, I have hectic periods and times when work is patchy. This means I might have a week when I can focus on fiction. But if I’m very busy with paid work, I still try to write at least 200 words of fiction a day, or edit something, or read something through. Because if I’m not disciplined, the lines, thoughts and solutions won’t come to me when I’m bagging up dog poo, or cooking, or listening to an elderly neighbour talk about his now-distant love life.
Throwing myself at the ground when both the ground and I are least expecting it – sometimes landing at an awkward, bruising, angle; sometimes managing to fly – is what works for me. And luckily it, just about, fits in with my work and family life.