When I took apart my furniture for transport last week, I was surprised by the number of things I've blu-tacked to my desk area that I no longer saw. Things that, at the time, I must have thought would inspire and motivate me, which gradually faded into the background of life as time ticked over.

Some of them still speak to me. On an index card, in bright pink letters, I have I've already written the worst novel I'm ever going to write. That's true. I pushed myself to write 87,000 words of drivel just to prove I could get to the end of a novel. It was my first attempt at using Atchity's index card approach, which failed badly when I realised one quarter in that the novel I was writing had nothing to do with the index cards I'd so carefully sorted. There were plotlines and even whole characters that disappeared halfway through because I flat-out forgot about them, and I had a tendency to resort to explosions whenever I got stuck for what happened next. It's a terrible novel, even if the odd half-chapter is an okay read. And when I feel I"m writing drivel, there's something comforting in the fact that, no matter how bad this one is, it can't possibly top that first one.

Another is an extended loan from my mother, because it spoke to her, too. (But being a mother, she said I could have it. For a while. I've taken it to my new house, so I don't know when she thinks she's getting it back, but that's mothers for you.) It's actually a cutting from the Age newspaper - and a cutting of an advertisement, of all things. We carefully folded away the bits that were the advert - I can't even remember what it was for. But the image is of some famous aussie-rules coach (or possibly soccor, forgive me, I'm not a football person) arms folded looking determined against a storm-cloud backdrop. The caption reads: Sucess is a habit, it's not a Saturday thing.

That hits home in so many ways. Real success means making sacrifices, working at it regularly, making it part of your life. You can just dabble for an hour or two on the weekends if you want to, but that's not going to lead you anywhere. If you want to really get somewhere, you have to take it seriously, make a real committment.

And one final one, again in bright pink on an index card (I don't actually like pink that much, it just stands out the most in my packet of sharpies): If you want out, write the damn book.  I look at that one two ways - I know I wrote it at a time when I was desperately hating my day job and dreaming of a time I could hang it up to go write wherever. So it was a simple reminder to spend my time actually doing the stuff that was supposed to get me out of there, and not just imagining what it would be like when I had. But it also serves as some bum-glue when I'm trying to invent an excuse for stopping writing before my timer goes or my word quota is up - if you want out (of that chair, of this room, of this half-hour), write the damn book. THe only way out of your writing session is to write yourself out of it. So get to it.

Then there's always my favourite, which I wish I could claim as my own, and isn't actually on my desk because it would worry people too much. And on the whole, probably not recommended as an philosophy for life (no matter how closely it runs to my own) but amusing nonetheless. Brute force: if it doesn't work, you're not using enough.

What sayings, pictures or posters would you put above your desk to keep you writing?