Is there any process or human endeavour that has as much written about it as the act of writing? It seems to be endlessly discussed, a subject of fascination. I enjoyed this recent article. Still, when (famous) writers reveal their tips, I half want to run away, as so much of this advice relies on physical wellbeing: Get up early, write so many hundred words, don't leave your desk 'til bla bla bla. The only thing I find in common is we all write in our pyjamas and drink cold coffee. And I really liked this article by Jenny Diski, which I may have blogged before. She sagely says: Not starting isn't the end. At least, not necessarily. Although I am the opposite of prolific, writing is always there, the impulse, anyway. I can't imagine not being allowed to write, having no tools, that would be my idea of hell. There is nothing more exquisite than the process of writing taking you away from yourself, you don't even know you are doing it. Was thinking back to 2008, it took me a year to recover physically - and emotionally - from the hurlyburly of The State Of Me, then I got recurrent uveitis in 2009 (which, touch wood has gone for good, I stopped treatment last October). Then last year we had the carpetbombing of PWME with negativity from the media and a certain consultant psychiatrist and his merry men. I cried so much during that time, just feeling so thwarted by lies. Anyway, here are the very short stories which have been published since The State of Me: 'The Bangle Man' was in the fundraising anthology 50 Stories for Pakistan, and 'Parched' which appeared in Glasgow to Saturn, Glasgow Uni's online lit mag in 2010. Both stories can be read here. And I had a flash fiction 'Tinsel and Heated Rollers' earlier this year in Caroline's fundraising anthology 100 RPM.