A Love Affair With Words

This morning, I’ve been chatting to myself, often aloud, the sort of conversation that one has with oneself when collecting the washing, unloading the dishwasher whatever. Telling myself, in fact more warning myself, that I’ve got to sit down today during the allocated time to finish the WIP as planned. Nothing – absolutely nothing - short of a natural disaster outside my front door, is to stop me.

My allocated time to write today is quite generous. There’s a three hour window between 3-6pm and I know exactly what I have to do. I appear to be back on track, though I take nothing for granted. I have a feeling in my tummy that’s more excitement than anxious knawing, so I’m hopeful the words will flow. It’s been a good morning, one where ideas and scenes have been germinating. But past experience has also taught me that come three o’clock, I may chew my nails, look out the window, wonder where the hoover is, or like I’m expecting to, crack my knuckles and formulate actual words from the morning’s seeds.

I love this feeling. That frisson of excitement when time has been put aside for doing something I’m passionate about. It’s like the early stages of a love affair. You sort of know what to expect, or at least know what you’re hoping for, but at the same time, there lurking at the back of your mind is the possibility that all may not go well.

Today’s post is a short one. I have figured over the years that I have only so many words to write per day, so I’m selfishly saving most of them for later. Wish me well between 3 and 6pm. I’m either going to be enjoying the love affair, looking forward to a happy future with my chapters, or wondering if that last colour wash is ready yet.

Love Story

Today, for the first time, I hadn’t a clue what to write about when it came to this post. I’ve spent the last few weeks huddled in my garret editing book two, pretending I know what I’m doing. Result? I’m stuck in such a rigid ‘surgical’ mode where I wasn’t sure I could write anything freely. I sat down, completely clueless, idea-less, doodled away….Interestingly the doodles were puddles, hearts and flowers? Answers on a blog reply please?

So in the absence of divine inspiration, I moved away from the desk, sat on the sofa with a cup of tea, closed my eyes and allowed myself to think of my next book. I allowed the characters to have an informal meet and greet in my head. I allowed myself to allow them to be a big part of the process, maybe take the story where they want to – allowed them to live from the folds of my brain. I found myself transported into a world that five minutes before I’d only ever had rough notes on. I could see where they lived, who liked who and why and where the conflicts may arise. I rolled the title round and round in my head and felt a surge of excitement that’s been missing for months.

My immediate instinct was to find my notebook, write it all down – quick! But I stopped myself, terrified that if I let myself get too carried away with book three, that the final hurdle of book two will suffer. And I’m on page three hundred and sixty one of three hundred and ninety seven pages. Nothing can interfere with that. I put the cup in the dishwasher and sat in front of the laptop, the manuscript for book two staring at me. Waiting.

Then a strange thing happened. Cal and Chrissie started talking in my head. They started talking about something which is important, based on a pivotal crisis in book three. They had a full conversation, Cal and Chrissie. I dived for the notebook, riveted at the scene playing out in my head. I wrote it down, made another cup of tea and found myself grinning stupidly, grateful to Cal and Chrissie for potentially solving a problem I didn’t even know I had! And Cal and Chrissie? Well, they hadn’t even featured in my cast of characters ten minutes earlier on the sofa. They do now and note to self – may have to ‘murder a few darlings’- as Stephen King so succinctly put it, in order to make room for them. They’re important now, Cal and Chrissie - my new best friends for at least the next six months.

I guess this brings me to what I think this post may be about? Aren’t we lucky, we writers? It’s not often we write about the tiny spurts of excitement we feel as a result of what we do. Too often, certainly from my own point of view, I moan about the submission process and how hard it all is. But I love what I do and I’m blessed to be able to do it. I’m not sure I do it well enough for market, but today, that doesn’t matter. Today, I’m still grinning at the joy of meeting two interesting people when I was least expecting it. And I’m grinning because I made them up, made them ‘real’.

Now, back to book two's manuscript for that last surge. There are other characters that need a final massage before I kiss them goodbye like an old lover, knowing I have a new exciting love affair waiting in the wings.