Firstly, let me apologise for this prolonged absence. I had a minor medical matter that needed to be taken care of (it has been, and I am fine and well and recovering nicely, thank you very much), but I missed this place; missed it dearly. For what writer enjoys not being in a fit enough condition to do so?
Over the past few weeks I have been giving my writing, and writing in general, quite a bit of thought. Oh, not plot or character or themes or anything as enjoyable as that. No, I have been considering how much of our own personalities we actually put into our writing, if any at all. And I don’t just mean, how much of ourselves do we put into our main character or our villain. I’m looking at all aspects of writing. When we write; our style of writing; the amount we write per sitting; are we planners or pantsers.
More importantly, are we substituting our own personality in favour for the behaviour of our favourite (favorite for my American friends) authors and how they write? Are we following others methods of writing at the expense of finding our own unique way? Continue reading
I’ve been wondering whether I should be telling anyone this or not, but I thought, what the hell. My novel has been coming along slowly these past few months. Sporadic periods of writing followed by weeks of ignoring it and now, well, lately it has been coming easier and it has been a daily present in my life.
As someone who writes a lot of short stories, I have found that when I get an idea for a short story, the title seems to come right along with it. Just like the night follows the day, the title follows the idea. With this novel, it has been quite different. I have tens of thousands of words written and yet it failed to materialize. Anxious, disappointed, worried: YES! I was all those things. Until the other day when I posted a piece on here about the ‘words not coming.’ Well, only moments later, the title fell into my lap. Rather it floated into my psyche.
‘As the Black Crow Flies.’
Firstly I will ask you NOT TO STEAL IT!!! Secondly, I’m not looking for an opinion on it like a worried mother wondering if she is raising her firstborn correctly. No, I am just happy to share it. It’s quite odd because although the story was coming along slowly, it was still coming along. Now, however, since it has a title (its real title) the novel feels more real somehow. Now I can picture it on bookshelves or on amazon. I am already working on the book cover in my mind. Not only has the title brought me a sense of relief it also has brought a new sense of optimism that, yes, the book is on its way. Not since the idea for the novel first birthed itself have I been this excited and more importantly, motivated.
With a newly built library in the vicinity, I was flowing over with anticipation of having a quiet spot to write, think and generally be an all round literary genius. Maybe scratch the last part of that sentence. Still, having found myself a corner, with a large window where I can view the world passing by me, I still can’t seem to get the words to flow. Conditions are perfect: Almost complete silence; comfort, humans around me who are also keen to partake in the wonder that is a library, yet I still find myself floundering.
It is not as if I have writers block. Far from it. The ideas are there, they are fresh and unique as they should be, but I am still finding it difficult to string the words together. Far be it from me to ever think that writing a story should be anything other than ‘simple’, yet somehow its difficulty is in sharp contrast to other times I have found myself slouched over my beloved Mac.
This is not a bitchy post. Let’s view more as a statement of fact. It is annoying to say the least, but I am not dry of inspiration. I’m just crossing my fingers, gritting my teeth and getting the words down as best I can. Perhaps this is the beauty of editing. A chance to come back and destroy the lazy words without destroying the idea.