I steal stuff. I nick things occasionally. This isn't plagiarism, it's taking things out of the public domain and using them differently. I think all writers do it. Start with an idea from another story and turn it into one's own; there's very little out there that's not derivative. Think how many times the Biblical stories are reused: Cain and Abel's murderous pairing is very popular. Chaucer's character the Wife of Bath is completely made up from bits and pieces of other texts, poor thing.

I've stolen the idea of Appropriate Column Ideas from Tim Dowling in the Saturday Guardian and turned them into Appropriate Blog Ideas (ABIs) and hunt round for them as a way to inspire or put off any other writing. As this blog is supposed to be about writing and creative ideas or the absence thereof Varifocal turns the spectacles onto Important Things in the Day to hinder writing.

Professional work of the paid variety. Has to come first, then exhaustion sets in.

Interruptions from elsewhere. Attending meal times with one's other half. Finding things for same. Conversing with same.

Necessary Leisure Time. Important for the creative juices (I keep hearing about). No fun, no writing apparently.

Sleeping. Eating. Searching for chocolate. (Someone out there knows who I mean).

The biggest ABI of the day however, is the Great Mole Hunt. A huge molehill appeared in the centre of the lawn. It shouldn't matter of course. No one here bothers about the moss much. . But this was insulting even to our lowly standards of lawn keeping. The molehill was flattened, reappeared, flattened, reappeared ... As did numerous molehills on the edge of the garden, with several seeming to have most of their bulk under the shed.

Flattening mole hills takes only two minutes out of writing time. But searching the internet for safe mole deterrents is a whole afternoon typing into a search engine (an ersatz substitute for typing creative thoughts).

Having wasted hours, with many pauses for coffee and serious thought, the idea of garlic came up. It's now thirty six hours since half a bulb of peeled and crushed garlic was shoved hard down a mole tunnel. No return of the molehill. Yet. There's a story in this somewhere if only I wasn't too busy checking the mole tunnel and putting garlic down the next one.

That's it. The cats have got to move, I want my armchair back.

Varifocals has done nothing. No writing hour each day, no ideas in nice notebooks, no revision of stories, no looking over the quarter of novel. I read this morning of an author (now subject of a new book exposing all sorts of interesting things for those who live vicariously through biographies) who always had at least six different reasons for doing anything and every one of them was right. I have some reasons for not writing. Friends and family are all ill. All serious stuff - no details here, I'm not going to write a misery / illness blog but other people's concerns somehow stop me writing. They're a drain on creativity. I have a demanding profession, it produces end of working day mushy brain syndrome. I have a lot to do that doesn't concern writing. I feel guilty about writing for myself. So back to the blog to get going again.

On the other hand I am very lucky. I have my own study - all mine, shared only with the cats, who don't interrupt much (I wish they'd teach partner not to). I work part time. Theory has it there are two whole days each week in which to write. Ha! I have the support of a marvelous writing group and friends who encourage.

I used to be very disciplined. I used to have deadlines and I obeyed them religiously. Now there are no deadlines apart from those I set myself and allow myself to break. They're really procrastination lines, semi permeable. I'm reminded of the late Douglas Adams who said something like, 'I love deadlines. I love hearing the whoosh! as they go by.' My homemade limits make wonderful noises at me. More like raspberries however. And a tinny voice that says, 'you're no good.' It squeaks at me and needs to have a cushion put over it. And the lines - whatever they're called - need to be made rigid, unyielding, absolutely fixed in my head. And I need some sort of alter ego so it's a different part of myself that writes.

So I'm posting this without revision, agonising or worrying about anyone reading it. It's to get me to write. (But any tips, hints, comments welcome. Oh what a hypocrite, I'm not supposed to care!)

That's it. I've fed the cats, thank you.