Hands up those who thought Isolation and Solitude were twins!

It’s got to be seriously annoying if you’re a writer, stuck at home, in isolation, with all the writing tools at your fingertips – laptop, Remington Model 12, pencil, paper, desk, kitchen table, whatever – and the words won’t come.

I don’t know why isolation can stifle creativity where solitude can so easily let it breathe. But it seems to be that way for lots of writers, even those not competing with spouses or kids or siblings or house-mates for those very same writing tools. I’m fortunate: there are no arm-wrestling or rock-paper-scissors type equipment-contests in the Fleming garret. And for some reason, so far during lockdown, the writing flows into the lap-top.

True, it seems a lot more viscous when it emerges – certainly for the first time. But after several rewrites, like a polished a car, it starts to look shinier. And so I send my best wishes to you writers blocked in isolation for your creative juices to flow; that if you’re sitting in that isolation car, you can start the engine.