The joy. Commissioned. Relief. Still a writer.

Prevarication. Official deadline… passes. Real deadline? Aaargh. Words wrenched from reluctant brain. Anguish: is it any good? Too many words? Again.

Click. Save. Send. Forget.

Time passes.

A magazine. On a shelf. I’m in it! Forgot it existed. In real life. Quick scan; no glaring blunder? Nice headline; I’ll claim it.

Intro changed. My fault. Too many words. Again.

But doesn’t it look lovely? The nice pictures. Shiny paper. Third read; relaxed in its company. Like real writing. By real journalists.

Maybe I’m OK. Onto the next. Then I’ll probably never work again…

Adrian Lobb | Freelance Writer (TV, music, arts)