This is where I went on Friday in the late afternoon, after I'd folded the washing and swept the kitchen floor. I said good bye to the girls and got in the car and drove the hour and a half trip here alone. I walked in the door with only my own bags. As soon as I got here I set my laptop up on that table you see and started writing. It was my first twenty-four hours completely alone for at least eight years.
It was a vague idea we've had for a while, that I could come out here to Mum's bach alone and work on the novel. It was one of those ideas that could have taken forever to make happen, or possibly never have happened at all. I booked the bach for all of us at first, I couldn't quite believe that I was going to get to come on my own. Now that I've done it once I'll do it again. And again.
I only wrote a thousand and something words but I finished the re-structuring I started a month ago and got my head around the part of this thing that I've been most scared of; the historical part. I'm not a natural academic. This is a big admission for me, and something I've literally only just come to terms with. It's to do with dyspraxia and the fact that my eldest daughter is not the only one in this family whose brain doesn't run in straight lines. I faced the fear that I wasn't capable of writing history. I'd had it in my head that I had to have all the facts straight before I could write, that I had to have an arsenal of verifiable and referenced details before I could do anything. But I'm not writing a paper, I'm writing fiction. I can write whatever I like.
I drove back home with this deep sense of peace. I had spent a day and a night devoted to the the thing I want to do almost more than anything. I felt like a writer.
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Perfect - 24 hours that's been 8 years in the making! Those thousand or something words will pay big dividends, as will the restructuring, And I totally agree -- you can write whatever you like -- lots of facts sound implausible anyway, things that are made up can feel more real, or at least more suited to your story. Keep those images of peace in your head, and go back there (in your head, or in real life) when you need to.
ReplyDeleteHow lovely! Something about this reminds me of Gift from the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh. It's amazing what some solitude will do for a busy mama!
ReplyDeleteI want to write, too, and I share some of your misgivings.... like 'do I know enough about what I'm writing about to really write about it?!'
I'm glad you got your head around that in a way that freed you up. Maybe there's hope for me, too. :)
I look forward to reading your book Idoya. I don't know what you are writing about, but this will be your first in-print-baby, yes? I think that's exciting and would love to read what you bust out of the gate with.
Marita - you are right... it was eight years in the making. And yes some made up facts are more plausible than the truth. It was something I read that you sent me about writing men versus women... as a woman not to be afraid of writing about men, just write a man as you would a woman. That was a revelation, and it made me think about writing about the past. that maybe it's not that different to the present.
ReplyDeleteKara - I think it's the inner knowing that we have something to write that spurs us on. For me, that has never gone away. And it doesn't seem to matter what other people think, whether they affirm this or not, it is something intrinsic. If you have that knowing, treasure it... watch how it never really goes away... and then one day when you are ready... start writing.
And I love that "bust out of the gate" business. Because I think I'm getting in the mood for a bit of busting...