A writer's life in rural Devon

To call myself a writer seems both pretentious and limiting.

    I have written books and articles in the past and I hope to do so in the future. I have earned money from my writing but not for several years. Sometimes I have what I think is a good idea and do a post for this blog; at other times, I neglect the blog for days, if not weeks, if not years.

    While writing perhaps occupies a lot of my thoughts it doesn’t at the moment occupy a lot of my time. I spend a lot of time doing other things – dogwalking, tending my veg garden, doing the accounts and admin for me and Frog as well as all the other jobs necessary to keep house and self going (with Frog’s help of course).

    I suppose the answer is that writing is my core. Writing is probably what excites me most, what gives me the most satisfaction, what gives me faith in a higher world. And, as Frog says, writing is an affliction not an occupation. To call myself a writer explains – and maybe excuses - all those quirks of my character that make me feel a bit of a freak, such as my need for only the minutest amounts of input (people, activity, sensory stimulation) but large amounts of processing (ie I like spending a lot of time sitting on the hill with the dog looking at the view). Or perhaps that’s just my age.

    All of which is a long-winded way of saying that I’ve changed the subheading of the blog (from 'Walking and writing - mostly' to 'A writer's life in rural Devon'). If you’ve a better idea as to what this blog’s about, do let me know.

On the hill above the house: one of rural Devon's many lovely views