Before I thought of trying to become
a published writer I admit I regarded writing as a bit of a mystical inspiration-driven
revelation spilling out like a Roman fountain. Well, that fiction was soon
tossed onto the dust heap. A year and a bit after my first book has been
published I am at least clear on one thing – writing is a process like any
other in our life, riddled with pleasure and pain and predictable obstacles,
and I go about it just like I go about other processes, for good and for bad. I
write the way I work, the way I parent, even the way I shop. Sad but true. Now
I discovered I write the way I swim.
I love swimming – with two little
kids and two careers I don’t get to do much of it any more but I love it. While
trying desperately to finish the second book in my Wild Lords series which
starts in November I escaped to the pool to try and get some perspective and
drown out desperation. I went through my usual breaking points:
(1) The first is getting into the
water in the first place. I mean – it’s cold! And I’m as close to coldblooded
as it gets this side of a lizard. But I curse and weep inwardly and take the
plunge, literally, knowing that within four or five laps that at least will be
behind me. The same with writing – there are endless ideas for a book but you
have to take the plunge and commit to one of them, ready to take it all the
way.
(2) The real breaking point comes
one third into my swim. I hit fifteen minutes or so and realize – that was only
one third? I have two do this twice again? No way! What was I thinking? What am
I doing here with all these svelte thirty year old metrosexual men and women
skimming through the water in the neighboring lanes, I should just face the
middle aged facts and find a more appropriate way of trying to stay fit and
sane than torturing myself each time in the freezing waters when I just want to
go sit in the Jacuzzi and maybe pray for a margarita.
With my writing this is the 25k word
count point – I often love what I have so far but wonder how on earth with so
much already fully formed of this story am I going to manage another 50k words?
The story is so large in my mind it seems absurd that it is only a third of the
way done. I already have HEAs and epilogues bursting the seams of my gray
matter but I still haven’t actually written the darn book! I begin to flounder,
worrying perhaps this is the one time I really won’t have enough breath to make
it all the way. Doubt sets in, dragging all other doubts with it – I don’t have
what it takes amongst all those amazing writers out there who are smoother,
funnier, smarter than I. I begin to sink.
This is where I grit my teeth and begin
pounding at my keyboard, making gnashing noises as I try to drown out that
inner critic until it actually works and then I’m sailing again…These are the
great moments because they come after you vanquish doubt.
(3) Somehow I get past this point
and then the strangest thing happens when I hit my appointed fifty minutes – I don’t
want to stop. There is something wrong about stopping. I OWN this pool. I’m
faster than the guy swimming in the other lane. I’m Wonder Woman gone aqua. Once I stop I’ll just be me again
and have to face reality…I don’t even have to explain the analogy. I hate
writing The End and saying goodbye to my fictional lovers.
We each have our own writing style
and our own way of coping with challenges and pitfalls and joy and our whole
life reflects them. At least that’s what I think. I’d be curious to hear if
other writers think they write the way they live – or not.
Sneak peek at my Wild Lords book #1: Lord Hunter’s Cinderella
Bride (Nov. 2017)
‘I think I might actually enjoy
this,’ Nell whispered, and Hunter was surprised to see her eyes brimming with
laughter
‘Enjoy what?’ He asked,
fascinated by the way her lips warmed to peach.
‘Flirting. I think I’m starting
to understand how it works.’
A slap might have been more
painful, but no more sobering. For a moment he had actually forgotten why he
was doing this.
‘That’s good. Feel free to
experiment. Despite my name, I don’t mind being hunted.’
‘I’m not sure how. I don’t think
I could ever do what Lady Melkinson does.’
He caught the hopelessness in her
voice.
‘You won’t know until you try,’
Her silver irises glimmering
through her lashes as they sank to half-mast.
‘Like this?’ Her voice husky, she
leaned towards him, the tips of her fingers just brushing his sleeve. Then her
lips parted and the tip of her tongue touched her lower lip, drawing it in
gently and letting it go. As far as seductions went it was very mild, as
hesitant as a girl dressing in her mother’s finery. There was no reason it
should feel like the blood was reversing course in his veins.
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Twitter: @laratemple1
2 comments:
cool way to relate your writing to life
denise
I so agree with this, Lara. Sadly, I don't get to do as much swimming as I'd like - and believe me, the water here in Lincolnshire is COLD. But instead in the mornings, I go for a walk round the local woods - much the same feeling! But can totally relate to the 'taking the plunge' feeling. I've long ago stopped waiting for 'inspiration'. As someone once said, it's BICHOK - bum in chair, hands on keyboard - and start! The only way.to get rid of procrastination . . .what, me, procrastinating now instead of writing. Never!
. . .I'm just going to hold my nose and plunge back in again! :-)
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