The River In Egypt

I’ve successfully avoided writing (apart from my last post) now for about...well, lots of days. How many, I’m not sure but I’d stab a guess at about twenty four. Twenty Four! I hear you all exclaim. That’s not days, that’s almost four weeks! But up until this moment in time, I haven’t wanted to face that. I’ve been happily ignoring the passage of time on that river in Egypt. ‘De Nile’ as they called it in the Dublin I grew up in.

Denial, I have learned since my Irish childhood, is a wonderful thing. I like to think of it as the mind’s way of telling you it’s alright to delay facing the truth. Especially when the truth means admitting I’m lost. Yes, lost. And it looks nothing like that exotic island that Sawyer lived on (yum, yum, but I digress...) It looks more like empty greyness and feels a little scary.

So, in deciding this morning that I’ve got to face facts and get back to my writing, I’ve also had to confront what happened? There are reasons and excuses, of course. I was away for one week of those twenty four days, on holiday – always a laptop free zone. But all those other days, well I wasn’t packing and unpacking for seventeen days, was I?

I know it’s okay to take a break from writing, but in the past its something I’ve done consciously. When I’ve needed time out from the process, I’ve given myself permission to do just that, enjoyed it and then went back as soon as it felt right. But this is different. Right now, I WANT to be writing. I NEED to be writing. I have lots of things I want to write; characters, scenes, all screaming to be heard like naughty children refusing to behave. So why have I done nothing with them, ignored their pleas, stuck my fingers firmly in my ears and chosen to iron shirts, phone my mother, or watch Jeremy Kyle? (yes, I admit it – the lure of the telly was strong that morning) And why having done all that, have I pretended I didn’t?

Part of the reason is because I haven’t yet decided on the exact project I want to concentrate on. Lots of things are begging to be written but there’s no coherence yet. To date, I’ve written two novels. And though I’ve dabbled in other things whilst writing them over the last three years, they have been the main events. And since finishing and submitting book two (Er, okay...Here’s where I admit that I haven’t finished submitting book two. Shit. This is turning into a therapy session...)

Where was I? Yes, since finishing book two, I’ve started and dismissed three versions of two possible novels. And nothing feels right. The fact that I’m not speeding ahead splurging a first draft like has happened before, more than likely means that none of these novel ideas are the right one to pursue – which means back to the drawing board – which means...AAARRRRGGGHHH!

See this is why denial, though grey and scary when confronted, has a certain attraction when ignored.

Facing facts, I know I’ve been in denial because it’s just damned hard sometimes. I just don’t have a clear vision of book three yet. And I feel I should have and I’m scared. What if all these ideas still roaming around my head remain just that? Roaming, silly ideas – none good enough to form the hooky basis of a plot with exciting vibrant characters... What if I can’t write a book three? And what if I do and I end up filing it away with book one and two?

All scary stuff.
But I have now confronted the monster.
And in clearing my head, allowed some space for coherence.
At least, that’s the theory. Watch this space for the practise...

The Lion, The Bitch and the Gloria

I've read that Stephen King writes 2000 words a day six days a week, always listening to heavy metal music. JK's been known to write longhand in busy cafes. My own act of writing involves sitting at my familiar desk looking out over the garden, cup of tea by my side - in complete silence. I begin by re-reading what I wrote the previous day, do a mini edit on it and usually, most times, it's at that moment that the characters come out to play. And I don’t just mean the characters featuring in my Work In Progress. I mean my own character traits made flesh, who regularly turn up to help or hinder me in the writing process. What I'm writing, where I am in the story, or how I'm feeling in general will completely dictate which one may make an appearance.

Take the Lion. She’s a hunting Lioness, strong and dependable, sure in her ability to take care of business. She urges me to be strong. Keep the Faith. She nurtures me, feeds me, encourages me to grow. She's most apparent during first draft months.

The Bitch makes regular appearances during all stages of a manuscript. She throws all the proverbial toys out of the playpen, ‘poo poos’ the publishing industry and snarls at anyone who mentions how many attempts it took JK Rowling to be published. She sabotages my work regularly and reminds me how crap I am. She also happens to be gorgeous, you know the type - tall, leggy, slim, blonde. (Note to self. From now on your inner bitch must look dishevelled, ugly and be so inarticulate that you have no choice but to ignore her.)

Which leads me to the Gloria, and I don’t mean the ‘in excelsis Deo’ Gloria. Er, no. Though I’m sure that sentiment rings true somewhere in my psyche, I actually mean the Gloria of the Gaynor type. You know…the one who survives? She tends to appear at submission time. She berates the Bitch with a withering silent look and then bursts into song….’Oh now Go, la la la la. I will survive etc etc’ I need Gloria. Oh, how I need Gloria.

Today is my first day back writing after a long break and it feels SO good to be at the desk. My hands hovered only momentarily over the keyboards before they began tapping rhythmically, almost of their own accord. It's quiet. The only sounds are birdsong in the garden and Gloria singing, sounding quite tuneful in fact.

The Lion is snoozing in long grass, one eye half open, there if I need her. The Bitch is hovering to my left, glancing nervously at her ragged fingernails. Actually, she looks like hell today.

I feel a good writing day coming on.