Right, then. Exercise. How much do we writers do?
Anyone who's met me in the last six months will be shocked to their very core to hear this, but I haven't been to the gym since April. Incredible, eh? Well, I finally hauled myself back down there today, and sweet Jesus on a treadmill, I was instantly reminded of the amazing effects of exercise. Not just on the body, but on the mind. Endorphins rock. I remembered how I used to spend an hour in the gym in the mornings, then spend the afternoons writing like some kind of tornado (albeit a tornado with writing inclination and ability, as opposed to a knack for wanton destruction).
We scribblers spend our days sitting down, our backs a tad hunched until we remember to straighten up. We're in constant danger of RSI, as those looming deadlines tempt us to compromise our physical well-being. So we should, occasionally at least, get the blood flowing, to nourish those all-important nerves, work those joints and stop our backsides from becoming seat-shaped.
On a mental level, what better writing inspiration than to have joyous happy (and legal) chemicals spinning through your brain? Don't know about you, but booze and writing don't really go hand-in-hand for me (not creative, fictional writing anyway... I'm half a bottle of Merlot down as I type) and drugs are out. I've stopped smoking. Again. So the endorphin - and of course that staple, caffeine - could well be our last viable brain-buzz...