I’m doing my little bit to reclaim the concept of manual labour for myself and for creative people in a very literal (and literary) fashion.

Oh, how I loathe that word — relevant! — and the noun that accompanies it — relevance! I encounter them both a lot in the cultural sector, and they give me the ick.

I’ve been saying for years, usually to drama students in training, that audiences are always locked in a race with whatever they encounter.

You’re not accountable to them. Only to yourself. So, really, you might just as well uphold your own truth in the first place — in writing, and in all other things.

While I’ve never, ever gone in for writing every day myself, it is something I have encouraged some other people to do, under certain circumstances.

In the space of thirty-six words, they have consolidated everything I'm going to keep reminding myself to do in 2025.

In recent weeks, I've been prioritising actual writing (of new creative work) over what we might uncharitably call pretend writing (such as this blog).

It seems fairly commonly accepted that if an artist - or more specifically, a writer - is to produce good output, they must make sure to absorb good input as well. By which is usually meant, if you want to be a writer who writes, you also need to be a writer who reads. This once led me to make a terrible mistake when I was teaching, and I have gone to great pains to ensure I never made it again.

I have to confess that I’ve become a bit impatient with people who say they would like to write, but who don’t actually do any writing. I can’t think of many circumstances, even in times of the greatest extremity, when it would be totally impossible for someone to write if they really wanted to.