So Mercury is in retrograde right now. It’s a thing.
And it’s not alone out there. Mars, Saturn, Pluto, Jupiter, they’re all in on it too. We’re talking five simultaneous, synchronised planets orbiting backwards around the sun. (Okay so technically they aren’t actually going backwards, but their proximity to the sun makes it look like they are. Or something. Astronomers call this an ‘apparent change’. That’s good enough for me and explains a lot about my life right now).
“Don’t contemplate a life as a writer unless you have a huge appetite for solitude, and more than that, in some sense you are most alive when alone” – Martin Amis
I slip out of town late on a Friday. It’s dinner peak hour at home but Hank waves me off, children clinging to him like barnacles. I’ve packed my laptop and a stack of books and I’m heading west for the Blue Mountains. I’m escaping.
Welcome to the wee hours. That strange disembodied patch of time after the kids have gone to bed and the house is finally quiet, otherwise known as ‘your time’ – if you can keep your eyes open long enough and your hands off the wine.
To be fair, this used to be when I did my best work. 10pm was my magic hour. I was a card-carrying, candle-end burning night owl, meeting tight deadlines after heroic all-nighters and then backing it up the next day with nothing more than a shower and a double shot (sometimes espresso).