It may surprise readers to learn that even I, the author of over forty novels, over sixteen plays and over eight poems, am prone to the occasional bout of writer’s block. No writer is immune from the clutches of this cruel, merciless disease, which can strike indiscriminately and without warning.
I will never forget the first time I experienced writer’s block. I was sitting at my desk, firing off a quick sonnet before bed, when suddenly I realised I was unable to think of a single word to rhyme with ‘car’. I immediately took myself to A&E, where I was forced to sit in a waiting room for over six hours alongside those with various lesser conditions; head injuries, broken limbs, appendicitis. When a nurse finally saw me, she refused to give me any medication whatsoever. No antibiotics. No cream. Not even a nasal spray. I tried showing her the unfinished sonnet, but the woman would not budge – she simply said I might be stressed, and suggested some breathing exercises.
That was the moment …