Nothing is easier or more enjoyable than writing when I’m bursting full of a story, words racing across the page catching up with the events happening in my imagination, describing the characters and what they’re doing and thinking, or recording the conversations they’re having with each other, painting in the background, sketchily at first maybe, even though it’s so clear in my mind… Nothing is easier!
Sometimes however things seem to dry up, like ink in a pen, and then what? What happens to my people next? How can I resolve their dilemmas and difficulties? How can I get them (and the plot) from this stage to the next? What happens in between?How can I start the next sentence, the next chapter, the next part? How can I conclude this episode, how can I finish the story? This character needs a name… but nothing seems to suit, this other character needs a wife/husband/lover but who will it be?
I have to edit this story, I have to go through it with a tooth comb, I have to check every little last detail, and cross-check, and cross-cross-check…
I get restless and fidgety and irritable… but it’s got to be done… and I have to force myself, and I do force myself, grumpy and mentally moaning and complaining, much as I used to moan and complain about marking books or filling in referral forms at work… What I’m doing becomes work, just work, so I grit my teeth and get on with it.
And afterwards? Afterwards when I read it through I can’t see the bits I had to force myself to write; some of the parts which flowed so beautifully have to be edited out because actually they are rubbish, some of the forced pieces of writing are good, good so I have to bring out my dusty old trumpet, rub it down and give it a good blow!!
Lois Elsden 