BarryHutchison

There are many aspects to being a writer that people never think about. Most people think it’s all glitz and glamour, piles of money and partying until 4am with the cast of Hollyoaks each and every night of the week. Of course, it is like that, but there are other sides to it, too.

Like writing. Between the calendar shoots and the cruises and the time spent counting up literally tens of pounds of cashing pouring in every month, we have to find time to think up words, then write them down in an order which makes some form of coherent sense. Oh sure, it sounds easy to most people, but working down a mine for 14 hours a day in the dark sounds easy to most people. That’s because most people, I’ve found, are idiots.

Writing is hard. Harder than working down a mine. Harder than fishing in force 9 gales in the North Sea. Harder than trying to stop an oil leak that’s threatening to kill every living thing in the ocean and bankrupt your company. You – like most people – assume that writing is a doddle, because all the average writer’s day involves is a bit of daydreaming, a few taps on a keyboard, then three hours of relaxing in front of the Playstation, but…

…

Actually, I’m not sure where I was going with that.

The point I’m trying to make is that sometimes writing is hard. Emotionally hard. Take the last few days, for example. Yesterday, I submitted INVISIBLE FIENDS 4 to my editor at HarperCollins. That’s always a happy time, and I felt compelled to celebrate by waggling my Barney Rubble as vigorously as I could.

Look, here I am doing just that.

You thought ‘Barney Rubble’ was some kind of euphemism, didn’t you? Shame on you.

Although the photo was taken on my phone in poor lighting, you can see the elation on my face. Another book had been written. Another mountain climbed.

Quite soon after I finish writing a new book, though, I start to feel a bit like this…

Quite a contrast. I don’t always hold a skull when I’m feeling unhappy, by the way, I just did it here for effect. Symbolism, an’ that.

So what is it that brings on this emotional slump? I have no idea. Maybe it’s just the inevitable crash that follows the Barney Rubble waggling high of getting a book written. Maybe it’s the realisation that I am about to be confronted with another blank page which I have just a few months to turn into a 45,000 word horror book. Maybe I’ve got Bipolar Disorder. Whatever the reason, the slump always happens.

Fortunately, it only last about 20 minutes, then it’s back to the parties and the money and the soap starlets, so no real harm done. Nevertheless, I hope this gives you an insight into the life of a writer, and helps you to realise that it’s not all fun and games. Sometimes you look miserable and hold a polystyrene skull for a bit, too.