The Writing River

My enthusiasm for the novel has tailed off in its usual fashion. Having written the outline I seem to have come to a natural hiatus in the writing, not daring to write any more because I am missing some of the pieces, and yet not knowing how to remedy the issues I am struggling with: like a sub-plot which ties in with the overall theme, or adequate language to convey the appropriate setting, and the possibility that I will eventually have to face writing from a man’s point of view.

I realise, however, that writing is often like this. There are ebbs and flows in the natural curves of the writing river, and the course is a meandering one punctuated by occasional white water rapids that drag you in without warning, only to spit you back out the other side no wiser as to the destination of your flimsy raft but simply relieved to have survived.

Currently I am finding it difficult to write anything. I want to contribute to the story I have outlined, to the overall weath of the novel that has taken root in my mind, but I can’t seem to make the flower grow. I just have to wait, checking back occasionally to see if the plant of this idea needs more watering and wait for it to bloom on its own. In the meantime I also need to nurture my writing habit, ensuring that when the idea does open out I am ready for it. So I will continue with my one sentence per day and hope that it will lead me somewhere to distract me from my current obsession.

To try and tempt my soul I have invested in a few library books. Such novels are, I believe, similar to the type of book I would end up writing: they have pastel coloured jackets, with a handwritten title scrawled across the front as if the author is about to share their innermost secrets. The blurb on the back enticed me to bring them home simply because they deal with issues I am interested in exploring. I am hoping to find some inspiration in their words, their characters, their plot. Interestingly, having already got through a few chapters of one, I am inclined to believe I could do this: I could write like this, pull threads of a story together like this, create characters to relate to like this. It suddenly doesn’t seem so hard. I’m not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing just yet.

Watch this space to find out, I suppose.


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