I’ve never been one to plan stories, it just doesn’t work that way for me (and it’s definitely no fun). Rather stories seem to grow and develop a life of their own. It’s as if the story is already out there somewhere and I’m just opening the window to set it free onto the page.
Don’t get me wrong I also suffer the inevitable “writer’s block” sometimes when the damn catch on the window seems jammed and the weather’s too dark and cloudy to even catch a glimpse through the pane. But then, sooner or later, it always loosens, the glass swings open and I’m invaded by the most inspiring scenes and ideas and I just can’t wait to get to my laptop.
My present book seems to be the most “revelatory” yet. New characters introduce themselves in my head as I wake, parading their own personal diversity. I ponder and realise how well they weave into the plot, adding depth and emotion, so that later I sit, tissues in hand when a plot twist reveals their demesne. Research (tedious as it tends to be) brings to light plot options, small details, and opens me up to places I’ve not been before in my writing. I wake each morning as if seeking to continue reading a book I’m wrapped up in, but it isn’t written yet! Reading and writing become one, with an irresistible urge to turn the next page, start the next chapter. My “overactive imagination” as my teachers called it has found it’s niche.
I’ll miss it when it’s finished (except that when the real work begins, editing, revising, condensing etc.) However I already have a tittle for a possible sequel lol! Meanwhile I’m in danger of becoming a recluse!
Why am I bouncing for joy? I just got great feed back on my latest half finished book attempt from someone whose opinion I really respect. Happy day!
Micheal Angelo said there was a sculpture in every block of marble just waiting to be released. As a sculptor in my youth I felt that was a great way to express it.
Now I write rather than sculpt (more practical with no studio) but I sometimes feel it’s the same with stories. It’s like you just turn a key, the door opens and it becomes like dictation, the stories reveal themselves to you.
My present book has been even more extreme of late. I wake with ideas popping
that seem to enlarge themselves on the page, interlocking like a layered jigsaw, creating deeper characters, more intricate plot and getting me so excited I don’t want to stop writing (hence the aforementioned timer lol.)
My other two books were also somewhat like taking dictation, but this one seems to just burst upon me in multicolored fireworks, like watching a movie unfold with my merely taking effortless notes for the script.
They used to talk of a “muse” that gave writers inspiration. That idea is not so common these days, but I could well imagine some heavenly force showing clips, pictures, and flowing script which I, a mere scribe, jot down for others to partake of.
I’m having so much joy in this other things are getting a little neglected. So please excuse my sporadic blogging of late, I’m in love with writing this story! lol!
(Much love to my fellow authors, long may we write!)
The wind blows the sails of hope towards the land of dreams.
Small fingers hold the tome aright and linger in its reams.
The story book of unknown realms, of lands beyond the seas,
Lies tilted now upon the lap and rests upon the knees.
The words a blur to untrained eyes, yet pictures show the tales,
Of prince and princess, dragons foe, and dreadful knights in mail.
And as the sleepy eyelids droop and book begins to fall,
A valiant hero dreams his way to enter into all.
(One of my favourite things- to instill in children a love of good literature)
Your favourite childhood book?
This is difficult for me as my childhood is such a distant memory and I was an avid reader (usually reading 4-5 adult size books a week!) I even walked along the street reading, stopping only to cross roads. I was never without a book.
The only memory I have of a particular book from my younger childhood was “Winnie the Poo”, but that’s only because the librarian insisted a four year old couldn’t read a book like that, so asked me to prove it before she’d let me take it out. I did, but it was my pride in scoring over the librarian rather than actually liking the book that kept it in my memory (I said I had pride problems lol!) I should add also my sister taught me to read long before I ever went to school so she really should take credit for that!
I do remember when around ten being very fond of my dad’s Sir Walter Scott’s books. I’m not sure of the title of my favourite, but I think it was “Beltane the Smith” one of his lesser known ones but very romantic. I couldn’t abide the usual run of books my classmates used to read (“Famous Five” adventures were particularly popular). I much preferred the classics and read pretty much all the age appropriate ones.
What do you collect?
Apart from books by my favourite authors, (which doesn’t really count) the only things I collect are items I think my grandson may use for one of his many “projects” cardboard boxes (from match boxes to parcel size), ribbon, and those odd items (washers, plastic bottles, pine cones etc.) that may fire up a 9 year old’s imagination.
I’ve moved often in my life usually from one country to another taking only what we could carry so the idea of collecting for its own sake never took root. I’m a very practical soul. I do enjoy very much looking at other folks collections though! Facinating!