The writing competition I want to enter is accepting entries of between 80,000 and 150,000 words. Let's get to work.
So yesterday, I wrote 2,104 words. Which is not bad going, seeing that I got terribly distracted by something purely idiotic on the way, but it was a pretty weak 2,104 words. No fluidity, no natural flow. The interaction between my two characters sounded artificial, awkward - even though it was about an awkward situation. I am someone who is not particularly fluent at social events and in social situations in general. I enjoy solitude immensely - the joys of solitude are outrageously underrated, nowadays.
Therefore, give me a good monologue, a character's interior life, inner thoughts and doubts and hopes and turmoils, great. Then as soon as I start describing interaction with people, it just goes a bit pear shaped ...
I regularly become obsessed with things. Not in an unhealthy I way - at least, I don't think so. I didn't say I OFTEN become obsessed with things - often would give the obsession a casual, repetitive, inocuous quality with a routine-like flavour. It is just that if I become obsessed with something I could do, something I'd like to do, something I want to do (and I have quite a list of those) then I usually end up doing it.
My latest one (and it has been with me since last November at least) is the part-time MA in Victorian Studies at Birkbeck college. I had always thought I would become a university lecturer and would spend my life writing books and studying them and writing about them. Then life decided otherwise - too much studying kills the thirst for knowledge, and I just wanted to try completely new things. I became obsessed with music. So I started writing about it instead.
But the thirst has come back. I've started thinking that it would be a good idea to go back to studying again, especially an era that has always, well, obsessed me. I even have an idea of what topics I'd like to look at if I ever went on to do a PhD. Only the - hopefully near - future - as well as the state of my finances - will tell me whether this is possible, but the obsession is here to stay.
I am currently working on my first novel. It is called I am a Muse. I found the title before I had anything else, and it started its young life as an idea for a short story. Then I thought about it again and again and, last winter, an idea took shape in my head and stuck with me. I have been developing that idea ever since, but started real work on it only in June of this year. About a month ago, I started typing, without knowing where I was going ... The story and the characters are taking shape before my very eyes, names are emerging from the shadows of the page ...
So far, I have managed to sneak in one scene from real life, a cat called Dummy, a Crimson Lady, a club night called The Pleasure Gardens, an isolated Victorian house by the sea, some Japanese girls with multicoloured hair and nails, a dead artist, a lost muse, a willow tree and Barry Lyndon ...
I have also finished editing a collection of texts (I would hesitate to call them poems) and I am working with an artist to create some illustrations based on those texts.
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I think therefore I write.
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