30 November, 2007 | Leave a Comment
my desk (with my favorite pig mug)
I’ve had a long week. Last night I got very little sleep because…[content edited by Anglofille 2/01/08]…
It’s almost the end of term. As a teacher, this means essay marking and exam prep. As a student, it means working towards completing all that I can before the Christmas break. The past couple weeks I hit a rough patch with my novel. Like most writers, I vacillate between thinking I’m a genius and thinking I’m a talentless hack who will never amount to anything. That’s the writing life.
I’ve been working at home too much lately, almost to the point of becoming a recluse. Part of this is the change in seasons, the darkness. I want to nest at home. Part of it is that I’m writing my novel and when I’m writing, I withdraw. I’m aware that this is not healthy. Today I decided to go to the Millais exhibit at the Tate Britain, which has been on my “must see” list for ages. I also felt like taking a walk along the Thames. I was torn about going out, because I’ve gotten very little writing done this week, which is not good. But I thought that if I had a nice cultural experience, it might stimulate something. When my writing isn’t going well, as it hasn’t been, I feel terribly loserish.
First I went out to get some lunch because I slept through breakfast - see first paragraph. As I walked down the street, a sentence popped into my head. This sometimes happens. But then another sentence came to me, then a paragraph, then lots of images. I felt flushed. Something magical was happening inside my brain. I had my sandwich and I raced home. So much for the Tate Britain.
Over the next few hours, I wrote four pages. These pages will (I hope) be the start of the first chapter of my novel. Until now, I’ve not been able to get the first chapter right and so I abandoned it. I’ve worked on this novel on and off for years and no first chapter has ever been good enough. I finally realized that there’s no need to write from start to finish. Sometimes it’s not possible anyway. There’s so much pressure to write a brilliant first line and first chapter. So once I began the novel again in earnest this term, I started writing at chapter three or so. This worked for a while and I produced several good chapters. But then I stalled. I began to feel as if I was building the second story of a house when the first story had yet to be built. Crisis mode. That’s where I’ve been until today.
Now, suddenly, unexpectedly, I have the first four pages of chapter one, four pages that change the novel, that make it richer and more complete. What a gift. My character’s family and her history have come to life, have in fact taken on a life of their own. I have no idea where these four pages came from. They came seemingly out of thin air. It’s almost as if they were spoken to me by someone else and I just typed them out. This happens sometimes if you’re patient, if you wait, if you keep working at it. Thank goodness.
Anglofille said @ 11:47 pm | literary |
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Anita Says:
December 1st, 2007 at 3:02 amYour photograph reminded me of my fountain pen. I found it. Thanks.
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daniela Says:
December 1st, 2007 at 9:01 amhey, that’s good! nothing like an insight - yes, they come as a result of labour, your chapter was just sleeping somewhere inside your brain, being fed by all the rest. and now it came to life.
may the trend continue!
ps. love this penguin mugs…. -
Rebecca Says:
December 1st, 2007 at 12:10 pmHow fantastic!
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Caroline Says:
December 3rd, 2007 at 11:56 pmYeah Anglofille, how do you deal with the British Way of Drink? They seem to really tie one on.
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Thanks everyone!
Caroline, it’s not easy!
