Oops…it’s February already. One twelfth of the year has already gone, and there is still too much ‘moodling’ and not enough hard graft in my writing life. There’s a lot to be said for moodling, of course. The term (allegedly coined by Brenda Ueland) refers to that happy but guilt-inducing state of mental wandering, toying with vague ideas, conversing with imaginary friends, or just staring into thin air in the hope of catching an elusive muse. King Alfred (see below) was an accomplished moodler and consequently burned almost as many cakes as I’ve done in my time. I’m a great believer in it (moodling, not cake burning…) and I see it as an essential part of the creative process.

The benefits of moodling are showcased at www.write-invite.com, where the weekly competition devised and managed by Rob Richardson provides a 30-minute workout for the creative writing brain. Sign up, and for the paltry sum of £4 or the equivalent (paid via Paypal) you too can sit hunched over your laptop, wiping sweaty palms on your knees as you fix your gaze on the nearest clock, waiting for 17:30 GMT when it all kicks off. At the magic hour, three titles (anything from quotes to random words) appear on screen, and participants have until 18:00 to produce and submit an original piece of work, typed straight into the box provided. (Don’t worry; if you have one of those days when your fingers freeze on the keyboard and your brain can’t move beyond wondering whether you remembered to switch the iron off, you don’t have to press the ‘submit’ button and nobody will ever know!) Three shortlisted stories are put up on the site each week, and all those who participated may vote for their favourite, which gives the final judging a democratic flavour. Brief comments about entries which were not shortlisted provide welcome encouragement.

There are many reasons why I love write-invite and recommend it to writing friends. First off, I must confess that having won the weekly prize of £50 a few times now, and having topped the annual league table one year (primarily by turning up more often than anyone else…) I cherish the nice warm sense of achievement it has brought me. Secondly, I find that even when it’s the last thing I feel like doing at 5:30 on a Saturday afternoon I always feel better for having done it. (Some people describe going to the gym in similar terms, but that never worked for me.) Thirdly, it’s an embarrassing but salutary reminder that actually I can sit down and write ANY TIME if I just put my mind to it – and sometimes it kickstarts a more productive few days. Most importantly of all, though, it always surprises me by dragging things out of the depths of my subconscious which I had no idea were there. Words emerge and do strange and magical things with each other, bypassing my ‘inner critic’ to tumble onto the screen in mad disarray. If I have time – and thirty minutes isn't long, believe me – I can sometimes grab a theme, or a setting, or even something surprisingly close to a plot line. Almost always (with the exception of those really bad days I’d rather not remember) I have stumbled back from the laptop at 18:01, read through my submitted entry, and thought ‘where on earth did THAT come from?’

And that, dear friends, is what convinces me that moodling, far from being a waste of time, is crucial to the eventual production of stories. However half-baked and dubious they may be, the scraps and strange mixtures which are born in moodling and which emerge through exercises like write-invite often lead to bigger things. 

So – come, let us moodle into February together, and see what we can make of it!