An annoyingly clever and funny writer once made the observation that every writer is allowed one piece about the act of writing itself. I think it was actually Mr Stephen Fry who said it, although in my case it was Miss Levesque who quoted it, but either way the opening clause holds true. It doesn't take much of a leap of imagination to twig that, well, this is mine.

I can actually remember the very moment that, as a child, I decided I wanted to be a writer. Tellingly (perhaps) it wasn't born out of some unexpected praise for a school essay, or anything objectively complimentary like that - truth be told, it was simple vanity. If there are two distinct traits in my character make-up which I try to fight against, they are laziness (which we'll come to later - if I can be bothered) and vanity. The single defining moment, when I decided I'd like to write, then, was when I read about one Andrew Smith, and the fact that (with 1980 classic Full Circle) he had become the youngest ever writer of a Doctor Who story.

I don't remember now how old Mr Smith was, and although I believe there was a photograph of him published in the Radio Times (along with on-screen newbie Matthew Waterhouse from the same story) I don't know what he looked like at the time, but the simple claim to fame of being THE YOUNGEST writer of a TV story triggered a real, ego-fuelled burst of inspiration in me, at the age (as I was then) of nine.

Obviously, and even ignoring many, many other factors, it's now patently obvious that at the age (as I am now) of thirty-three, I am never going to be able to top Mr Smith's claim. My pre-pubescent, multi-story Time Elemental arc never got further than a few scribbled pages set in the present day; the Davison era tradition of a two-part historical each year was abandoned before I could even finish the first episode of my story about Dick Turpin; and to make quite sure that my fiendish plans were firmly squashed, the BBC took the unprecedented step of putting the show on hiatus for fifteen years from 1989 onwards.

Vanity is all very well (and mine gets a continuous polishing from the banner that adorns the top of this page I must admit) but in real life it's no substitute for confidence. Vanity makes you think you can write the greatest novel ever written (and tends to send you off into fits of distraction, working out the dedications and the thankyous); but confidence gives you the nerve to keep writing it. When I was younger, I always felt sure (albeit in perhaps a rather abstract way) that when I was older I'd become a published writer - and it came as a real shock to me recently when I suddenly realised that I no longer think that.

I don't have any great illusions (putting vanity aside for a moment) that I am a great writer, but I like to think that I'm fair to middling on a good day, and that I at least know the basics. If I'm honest, I think I have two main strengths, although arguably neither is much use on its own. First, I think I have a good grasp of structure; and second, I think I have a good feeling for when something ISN'T working.

Where I'm going, in an admittedly rather roundabout fashion, is that this will be the last (semi-)regular column for a while. There are a few reasons - the first is that I have temporarily run out of things to write about. No, perhaps that's not quite true. In the past there have been weeks when I couldn't think of anything to write about, and then suddenly the smallest thing would spark something and a piece would more or less fall into place (make of it what you will, but the three best examples all concern watching TV - being about Four Weddings and a Funeral, Time Team, and The Great Escape). I can't really believe that suddenly my life has become so lacking in any, even humdrum, occurrences; it's more that the spark has gone. Going back to knowing when something ISN'T working, the several attempts I've made at a piece on comics have all fallen apart, ditto my witterings on quotations. Even the absurd tale of my parents' colour-changing television hasn't managed to come alive on the page. I can't really believe that none of these things are entertaining (the saga of the TV has kept us all amused here since before Christmas) and yet the writing of them blatantly is.

Even worse, the last column (on the subject of Christopher Eccleston's abrupt departure from Doctor Who) didn't work, but I submitted it anyway. Knocked up in my lunch hour (and it shows) I was too lazy to review it, too vain to abandon it... and to be honest, the vanity was what swung it, simply because, well, I liked the title. What more tenuous reason could there be to "go to print"?

So, to return to the point, I'm going to take a break. I'm not quite vain enough (not quite) to think that I needed to write this column, so that my legions of fans will know why - but equally, I didn't want to just stop, because that would seem, I don't know, rather rude and even ungrateful to Lissa, who has not only given my witterings webspace, but has had to put up with my rambling covering emails when I submit them. I'm going to take a break (a) because I find myself not knowing what to write anymore; (b) because what I have been writing hasn't been as good as it ought to be; and (c) because, although I've given up on the idea of writing Doctor Who, and certainly of being the youngest person ever to do so, I would like to try and write something publishable. I think I just need, how ironic, time and space, and perhaps also it's just a case of "and now for something completely different."

I will, having said all that, be continuing with the EDAs (by the way, corny though it is, I love the Ed Andrew gag) because I am still reading them, and because in the case of the books, finding a subject to write about isn't an issue. And also because, despite the generally bad press the later EDAs have received, at the moment I'm da-da-da-da-da still lovin' them.

So I'll just finish with thanks to Lissa, not only for hosting, but for picture placement and link programming par excellence; and to anybody who's ever read any of these 'ere columns. I'm sure there will be more...

...but not yet.