Being a writer can be very rewarding (girls just DIG writers especially if you give them a Shakespearen sonnet whilst suggesting they invite you in for "coffee") but it can expose you to a lot of scepticism and sarcasm from other people. There seems to be this strange section of society that believes that writers are lazy slackers, dreamers and pontificators, people who like to wear white frilly shirts and who have a floppy wrist problem. Oh and if that wasn't enough, this same cross-section of our beloved world believe that "anyone can write", that it is not a real "skill" and that anyone who proclaims to be a writer and demands to be paid for it is nothing more than a greasy charlatan, thank you very much. Yep, we're right up there with insurance salesmen and con artists.

I've been writing in one form or another for the past 17 years so I have heard all the sarcastic comments, the laughing and the sly digs. I've seen and heard the sniggering when I hand out my business cards and they read what is on the card - "freelance writer" ("ooohh....so you're some kind of Shakespeare then?!!"). I've seen the snap judgments being handed down when someone asks me where I've been published and when I start to list some titles, they interrupt me with "oh, so nothing important then..." (to which I normally reply with "no sorry, Arrogance Weekly and Brainless Monthly have turned me down so far"). I've had all the cliched one-liners when people ask me when I'll "get a real job" or they ask me what time in the afternoon I get out of bed. So it became apparent to me fairly quickly that in order to survive as a freelance writer, I need to have a really thick skin. So I began to grow one and now I have a skin thicker than your average rhinoceros.

People don't seem to realise the importance and the value of a writer. Who do they think writes the newspaper they're holding rolled up under their arm while they are passing summary judgments on your chosen career? Do they think an army of robots write the sports section? What about when they turn on the television to watch their favourite soap opera or comedy show? Does the viewer think that the actors and actresses make up their own lines and improvise as they go along? The important role of the writer is often overlooked but it is the writer that makes the show happen in the first place, it is the writer that makes it possible for a newspaper or magazine to be published? Entertaining the masses is a growth industry these days and somebody has to do it. It may as well be ME and MY bank account, instead of someone else.

The times I enjoy the most are the times I am vindicated on an issue. I'm sure all professional writers have had that situation where a potential client asks you for your price, you give it and they then splutter in indignation, calling the price "outrageous" and "daylight robbery" (I've chosen two of the more friendly terms that I have been given by clients, I wouldn't want to shock you by giving you the worst words). So me being the polite British me with the stiff upper lip, the cricket bat (for beating to death deadbeat clients) and the cup of tea answer back politely saying that the price quoted is my standard rate and if Sir doesn't like it then Sir can write his own bloody work, thank you very much and bugger off. So an aura of bravado comes over them and they blaze back with "fine! I WILL write my own work then!". So time goes by, tick-tock-tick-tock and I am looking at my watch wondering how long it will be until they give up. I visualise them sweating their guts out, agonising over every word in their unintelligable rambling animal prose because their pride will simply not allow them to contact me back and admit defeat. Or perhaps they are busy going round other writers trying to get a cheaper quote and ending up getting the same quote that I gave them. Meanwhile I am having another cup of tea, glancing at the clock and watching the email inbox for signs of activity. Then suddenly Pride takes a good kicking and a shy email comes back from Mr Outrageous from Daylight Robberies Industries asking me weakly if my original quote was still available and that my terms were perfectly fine after all.

Lawyers and electricians don't get this kind of abuse and harassment from customers. When it comes to professional people like them, they do the job and get paid their price. The customer may moan about it later but they know that if they want the job done, they need to pay the price. That's how the world works. But for some reason, writers are treated differently. They're not looked upon with the same amount of respect. Writing is looked upon as a hobby, people who call themselves a "writer" or a "poet" is assumed to be living on government benefits and scrounging from charitable strangers.

I have to go. I need to sign on at the job centre. Oh and I need to cash my Housing Benefit cheque.

If you ever get the chance to meet a British person in the course of your travels, there are certain character traits which you will soon notice about them. The first one is an obsession about the weather, the second an obsession about football and the third is that a cup of tea is the answer to all problems life could possibly throw your way.

Lost your girlfriend? Have a cup of tea love! Lost your job? Make a brew mate. Lost your business and about to lose your house to the bankruptcy court? Surely you can find some change in your pocket for a cuppa? Lost both your legs? Bounce down to the shops for some teabags, pet.

Yes, it’s really true. As a fellow Brit, I can testify to this – tea really is the magical answer to all of life’s problems. After two or three cups of the "magic brew", no problem seems too intimidating to tackle, no mountain too steep to climb. Even my depression seems less severe after a few teas.

But there are some secret rules you need to follow. Ready? First, the tea has to be ordinary black tea. It shouldn’t be fruit tea. It has to be black tea. Fruit tea is for show-offs and tourists.

Second, the milk goes first into the cup. Yes, that’s right. Milk. Not cream but milk. I know this is extremely radical for all you German readers out there but it has to be real milk – from a cow no less. Yes, that animal that moos a lot, yep that's the one. Plus no "whitener" powder. I don't know what's worse - whitener or cream. The jury is still out on that one.

When the water has boiled, add the boiling water to the teabags which are already in the pot. As one fellow Brit put it, "if the water and tea-bags don't make contact as soon as the water has boiled then you may as well drink gnat's piss". My immediate response to that was how did he know what gnat's piss tasted like? Did he have some secret hidden lifestyle that I should be told about in the interests of public safety?

Then the tea comes from the teapot, after being in the pot for a while to “brew”. Then the sugar comes last, followed by a good brisk stirring. Then it’s done. Sit back with your tea in one hand, a chocolate biscuit in the other and prepare to see all your problems fade into total indifference. After a few good sips, you'll even start to look upon George W Bush with a more benevolent attitude.

It’s refreshing, it’s tasty and it’s cheaper than drugs, alcohol or cigarettes. Plus tea has been proven to have medicinal qualities. For example, tea has been shown to cut down on certain cancers and some of the ingredients of tea can wash your teeth more thoroughly than a good teeth brushing could ever accomplish. In all my 31 years (32 years in February), I have never had a tooth filling and I put that down to my tea addiction, the ingredients of the tea giving my molars a good washing out, more than any toothpaste could ever do.

So put the disgusting coffee to one side and have a tea instead – with milk. You know it makes sense love.

It was 4.00am and I suddenly woke up from a fitful sleep (which is pretty common for me these days). Normally at this point, most people would simply grunt, roll over and go back to sleep. Not me. I rolled over, turned on the light, got my notebook and pen and started to write about what I just dreamt.

I have been keeping a dream diary for several years now and I have got some good stories and source material from it. Dreams are basically your brain’s way of sorting through images in your head, things you’ve seen and heard and problems you may be having. But it can also be a valuable resource for writers.

When you wake up, fragments of your most recent dream may be lingering in your head. With a bit of intense concentration, you can sometimes make most of the dream come back in your mind. Now start writing it all down, as much as you can remember. Quick now before it disappears forever. What were you doing in the dream? Who was there with you? Where were you? Describe your surroundings. Who said what?

Now you may be wondering the value of writing all this down. Let me show you.

The other night, I had a dream where everyone had turned into a carrot and they were being chased by a pack of wild talking hungry rabbits. The next morning, after everyone had stopped laughing hysterically and asking me who my drug dealer was, I started writing a children’s story about it and submitted it to several children’s magazines. I also wrote a more mature adult comedy routine about it and sold it to a comedian in Philadelphia.

Dreams are generally slightly wacky. Who hasn’t had a dream where they were flying? Or being chased by people with guns? All of these dreams have a deeper psychological meaning but they can also spark a writer’s imagination. A lot of dreams take place in a fantasy world where the rules of normal life don’t seem to apply. So that is the perfect setting for writing fantasy stories or "Alice in Wonderland" type stories.

If fantasy stories don’t appeal, try writing non-fiction articles on dream interpretation. What does it mean if you have a constant dream of falling? Try to analyse your dreams and give them some meaning. Then readers with the same dream will appreciate knowing what it is all about.

Last year, I had a persistent dream where I was trapped in an attic and I was drawn to a treasure chest in the corner. But when I opened the chest, I always woke up. It really frustrated me that I couldn't see inside the chest so I worked out my frustrations by writing a psychological-horror short story about it. Stephen King, eat your heart out.

So next time you dream about being invited to a Playboy Bunnies party at Hugh Hefner’s house, immediately write down all the details. There could be an article or story there in the making.

Here I am trying as hard as I can to claw my way back to having a life. The going is tough and at times I can't make it but I am trying my best nonetheless.

Those of you with manic depression yourself will understand what I am talking about. You start at the bottom of the big black hole (or as I call it, "BSL" - Below Sea Level) and one day while you are struggling to focus on life's daily priorities, like waking up and doing something productive, you decide suddenly that you want to give yourself a good kick up the rear and get moving (one of those uplifting inspirational moments). Suddenly, the groaning corpse-like lump on the bed (that's me) shoots off the mattress in a sudden flurry of energy scaring the crap out of everyone else in the room. I run around the house for a while cleaning up, answering emails, doing work, humming the tune to Rocky's "Eye of the Tiger" and then suddenly, the energy is gone and I slump back onto the bed again, all corpse-like. Meanwhile, the others in the room are looking at one another saying "well that's him for the day! We won't get a peep out of him until tomorrow now!"

The life of a manic depressive. How it sucks.

I do try to get up on a regular basis though as I am trying to work through the illness. I try my hardest to meet my obligations and commitments and I am blessed by the fact that I work fast. So when I feel kind of OK, like now, I can work extremely fast and I can fit a day's work into a couple of hours. It's this talent that allows me to hold down a job and make some money. I am trying to get a hospital appointment as soon as possible so I can request that I go back to an old medication called Zoloft. The current medication is making me too tired and Zoloft isn't exactly perfect but it is the best of the whole lot.

For me, life is all about compromises and making the best of a bad situation. Things can never be perfect due to the depression so I need to lower my standards and aim a little lower in life. I have to find a place where I am comfortable with how things are and I have to take great care not to put myself in a situation where I can be disappointed or hurt. If I can manage all that, I normally do just fine.

Things have been a bit lax with the blog lately I know. I've really been struggling with a severe bout of depression as well as getting some work finished. Then I had my parents here the past few days which was really nice. What was even nicer was that my brother came too - the first time I have seen him in almost six years.

I've also been hooked on a new book that I received from my grandparents as an early Christmas present - "The Science of Sherlock Holmes" by E.J. Wagner. Very fascinating stuff and right up my alley.

I'll be back soon when I have some spare time to devote to writing some posts. But rest assured, I haven't forgotten about you.