Although this is undeniably ‘off piste’ in terms of my daily diary, given the bleak nature of my earlier post – and yesterday’s ‘black day’ – I feel it incumbent on me to offer a glimmer of light sooner rather than later. And if not for you, then for me..!
Merely as a point of record, I should say that I have taken the dialogue from the opening of ‘Z’ and transposed it into a radio play format. This was partly not to lose it, and partly to see if it ‘felt’ any better in another context, another style. Doing so also offers an alternative route to see the story through should I decide that the narrative is one worth persevering with. My intention is to leave it now for a few days and see if I am drawn back to it (in either format).
In order not to instantly stagnate and feel any more sorry for myself that I did last night, I have picked up the beginning of a short story I started writing some time ago and, in the last hour or so, added a few paragraphs. In many ways it was a test, not just of my mood and inclination, but also to tease at the idea behind the story, that perenial exploration as to whether something is worth writing about or not.
This particular story is based upon personal experience and, unsurprisingly, although I only have the beginning of it at this stage, my attachment to it is palpable. Being able to draft a little more of it so soon after yesterday’s crisis with ‘Z’ is telling, both in terms of my attachment to the story and the ease with which those additional few paragraphs flowed this morning.
There’s nothing earth-shattering there of course, and it is too early to derive any conclusion, but the experience – the emotional experience of the writing – is telling, if only as a reminder as to how critical it is have such an attachment to one’s work. Perhaps occasionally we need to be reminded of the basics…
Context…
I am sitting outside the front of our house as I write this. Six doors down there is a man on a ladder executing some ‘running repairs’ to the porch of a neighbour’s house. He seems wrapt, engaged, focussed. Does he love his job or is it merely something to earn money? Does his passion lie elsewhere? In his spare time is he an aspiring actor, or artist? Or writer? What are the joys and traumas in his life?
There are over seven billion real stories waiting to be told. As writers we are privileged to be able – in one way or another, fiction or not – to scratch at the surface of them…
Ian Gouge - Writer 