We moved house last Friday. It was … interesting. This is what I keep telling myself – that all experiences are good experiences, because as a writer I can use them to imbue my characters with more life, more authenticity. I keep telling myself this no matter what I go through in life, and I hope that one day I will start to believe it.

But seriously, it was a pretty stressful move. From the countryside to a town; from a quiet rural idyll to a new-build estate (with another 18 months of building noise to look forward to); from big rooms to small rooms; from normal and familiar to strange and uncomfortable. We all wanted this move – we all decided it was for the best – but the reality is always harder than the dream.

And so it begins. Soon I’ll need to sit back down at my desk (once I can find my desk under a pile of boxes) and start writing again. I’m hoping I can use all these intense feelings and channel them into my writing. Right now I feel anxious, sad, excited, homesick, exhausted, confused, daunted, flat, sick, nervous, guilty, panicky, and a little depressed. And that’s without delving very deep! But it’ll pass, right? Meantime, I’ll just go on telling myself that stress is good for writers, and that there’s no such thing as a bad experience. Just an experience you can use.