Hey! How are you doing? Did you have a good holidays?

The summer is over and the Autumn, after that weird little heatwave, is finally here. And with that, I am back to writing – so hello and thank you for coming back to read.

I am writing this from my new writing room.  I know I should call it an office but that sounds stuffy and grown up, while a writing room sounds magical and full of inspiration and beanbags and unicorns. At least it does in my head.

The room used to be my daughter’s bedroom. With her all settled into her grown-up life, the space was finally free for me. I was just going to move in a table and armchair, maybe a desk so I could pretend I was a proper writer, but once we moved all the junk out of there it was obvious it would need more tender care.

There was the huge mouldy flood stains on the ceiling for a start, that the council were meant to come and fix but somehow never did. And if we were painting the ceiling, my husband reasoned, we might as well paint the walls.

I resisted, declaring that I didn’t need much, just a corner where I could plug my laptop in. But then we moved the cupboard in the corner and the wall was covered in weird stains so reluctantly, never one to graciously admit my husband is right, I agreed and we decorated the room.

We painted the room the palest of pinks – I didn’t discover until after, that the paints name, Middleton Pink, referred to Kate Middleton. I now feel the need to perform republican rituals to quash any royalist vibes that may be seeping from the walls. That or embrace the vibes, deck the room in flags, and stand waving from the window.

Previously I’ve always written from the sofa, which was fine except for all the mountains of notebooks and research over the dining room table. Plus, the lack of hiding space for my secret, writerly, chocolate stash – doesn’t everyone need a Double Decker to get the creative juices flowing?

Now, in my new majestic pink room, I have a whole shelf for confectionary and notebooks and research. Hello chocolate-covered liquorice balls, where have you been all my life?

(I have also had to face that, with a now clear dining room table, I’m the kind of woman who still prefers eating her tea on the sofa watching MasterChef – not very writerly!)

In my new room, there is space for morning yoga and afternoon meditations, or at least there would be if I could convince the puppy that me lying on the floor was not an invitation to jump on my head.

A room of my own might make me feel like a real writer, even if I don’t have the independent income to go with it. A room of my own, with a view of the sun and moon rising over the hills, will give me space to play and create and imagine.

A room of my own also adds a layer of pressure. Now, I really need to come up with the goods. Now, instead of chatting about it, I really do need to start novel number two, and enter writing competitions and well, actually write.

But that’s enough of that kind of talk. Everyone knows that real writers spend most of their day looking out of the window, so I’ve got that part covered.

It is lovely to be back here with you. Lovely to realise my fingers remember how to type, even if my mind is yet to remember the words.

Hopefully, we will meet again next week, when, in my room of my own, I will have something to write about.

It’s exciting, isn’t it?

I guess we’ll see.