Tomorrow is the anniversary of this blog.
I’ve slackened off from it recently because it does, I think, take over the same space in my brain as the novel. In other words, I can’t think about both at once. However, after last Tuesday’s post, I wrote a scene that I was pleased with it. It felt real. It moved me. Scenes like that are rare, much too rare.
The state of mind that I achieved last Tuesday was, I think, emptiness and it was from that emptiness that a scene swam into my consciousness. That is my current theory anyway. I thought I felt empty today but I haven’t been able to write anything for the novel. Perhaps I have to be empty and desperate.
And writing the blog post last Tuesday put me in touch with how desperate I felt and helped to empty me out. Ironic.
Another factor could be confidence. For some reason, I was always confident about my editing and non-fiction writing. It never occurred to me that I couldn’t do it or wouldn’t get the work. So of course it all went fairly smoothly. In my memory anyway. Would that I could approach novel-writing in the same way. But I don’t.
Frog (who is my main confidant in this peculiar process apart from my sister and you) compares my novel-writing to native ceremonies. The participants don’t know what works, what it is that achieves whatever result they’re after – making some foodstuff or drink, healing, changing the weather and so on – so they stick everything in – dancing, singing, touching rabbits’ ears, imbibing, decorating themselves and their houses etc etc.
He also says that my creative writing muscle is one I have used little up till now, so it needs strengthening and toning. I just need to keep practising.
It’s great that he’s so encouraging because I don’t encourage myself. I refuse to believe in this inexplicable urge I have towards doing something I find so difficult, whose rewards – at present – are few and far between, and which can be so painful.
The trouble is, I don’t know what else to do. It’s the only shape I can see the future taking.
Which brings me back to the blog.
I’ve toyed with the idea of joining Facebook, ‘putting myself out there’ and maybe getting lots of new readers, but I’m not sure that I’m ready for that yet. I like the blog’s current intimacy. I don’t want to get addicted to feedback and numbers of friends.
Maybe when I have something to sell . . . like a finished novel . . . I will think differently.
In the meantime, thank you loyal reader. I love knowing you’re there.
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| Wild daffodils in our gateway (planted by me) |
Yes, I am here - and there, in that struggle to enable and sustain the creative life. In my case, the fact of having a physical condition is something that always has to be negotiated. But there are other things to do with confidence that seem to particularly afflict women writers. Have you come across a book called Fearless Creating by Eric Maisel?
ReplyDeleteI am on both Facebook and Twitter. In spite of reservations, I like them both for different reasons. Twitter is probably the less intrusive of the two. But Facebook has given me a sense of connection to people. One has to be careful not to spend too much time on them - but that isn't difficult for me.
Such a helpful comment, as ever. Thank you. Much apreciation. I will look for the book and reconsider Facebook.
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