Writer’s Block

I manage only occasionally to write a piece – like this one – for my blog. I began each of the paralysed novels in a burst of creativity that deserted me after only two or three chapters. I both cases, I lost the plot. 
I cannot blame my return to broadcasting, presenting "Sunday Sequence" on BBC Radio Ulster for five years. It was an absorbing and enjoyable time. If anything, the research, the meeting and interviewing different guests, the exchange of ideas in the programme team should have boosted my imagination. But I didn't resume writing either of the novels when I decided to stop broadcasting.
I cannot blame Covid. I abandoned both novels before the Pandemic. 
I partly blame the move to Belfast and my failed attempts to find as easeful a writing space as the one I enjoyed in our previous house. Many writers scribble happily in different spaces, but I miss my desk by the window with its view of the garden and the bronze hare I commissioned when I got the advance on my first novel. He now stands in the back garden in Belfast, but I can't see him from my desk at the front of the house.
On a brighter note, during the pandemic I began to write, and managed to finish, a play. It has not yet been performed on a stage, but I hope it will be. I am now working on another play – one I started and abandoned before writing the play I actually finished. I am determined to complete this one. Perhaps the muse has changed her focus. But I'd really like to finish at least one of those abandoned novels.