Everyone writes in different ways, at different speeds and with – at times – different motivation.
I am the type of writer who, once I begin something, fly at it. I tend to overwrite. I tend to get too emotionally involved in my characterisation and what I call the story. In other words, I get lost, lost in my own creation.
This is all wonderful, of course, and paints a typical picture of an artist immersed in their craft.
All wonderful until you’re stuck, stuck again, looking through that perspex at images of yourself at work, images of the intensity of the writing, images of the nice glass of wine or a quiet walk or a good movie or a long sleep when the story is written. Lovely.
But when you’re teeming with ideas and words the images of writing in action become unreachable, unobtainable.
I’ve found a solution.
No magic formula but something I’ve found – again, and again – that works for me.
I let go. I let the notion of writing go.
I have not added a word to one of my stories in about three or four days. I’ve had to let go.
And last night I dreamt. Dreamt of which unfinished piece of writing I need to return to. And suddenly I can see myself. Visualise myself writing. Again.
Let go. Read. Dream.
And write again.