Do we need more reasons to write? Well then, I write as a form of meditation; to become so gathered in thoughts and the plot, that I can forget where I am, who I am, what time or day it is. Time rearranges itself to my activity, which proves utterly absorbing. After tapping away for hours – my handwriting is atrocious, these days – I can look up, blink, and feel refreshed to have been away from the usual tracks I pursue.

It is also good, in the depths of another episode of insomnia, to have something to show for years of broken sleep. Actually, I have my daughter to thank for the realisation that I rarely have insomnia these days: her baby days were so utterly exhausting, that I am quite well schooled to sleep for a minimum of six hours a night. Bliss!

And I have my daughter to thank for something else, too. My life, until she came into being, was littered with half-finished projects. I had lots of good ideas, but never quite the stamina or motivation to finish them, until my friend reminded me that she would pick up that habit, the, ‘oh, I just can’t be bothered’ habit from me, unless she saw me doing things differently. How closely children follow our example in all things!


That gave me all the incentive I needed to set a good example, which was unafraid to work hard, to persevere, to take frightening risks perhaps, but to finish. Finishing, as a motivation, has become an end it itself.

It is only by seeing our projects through to the finish that we prove our dreams are worthwhile. By finishing a job – no matter how small – I discover the best way to demonstrate the power of success to my daughter and set a good example.

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