After publishing four books in just under 3 years, I took a short break from
writing since releasing Gabriel's Game, Part 2: The Black Knight in May.
Yet
despite my fingers staying away from a creative keyboard, once you unscrew that
writing tap (or faucet for my American friends) it's unstoppable.
I've had
ideas ruminating for some time...
I shared a snippet from the next book project 'Finding the
Scream' in my last Tom Cat's Mewsings update and knowing that August will be a
quiet month at work for me, I plan to do another 'Mini-NaNo'*.
*Mini-NaNo = National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWri M), write 30,000 words of
a novel in a month that isn't November.
I'll be
writing the lion’s share of a first draft of 'Finding the Scream' in a
month.
In the 30 Days to First Draft update I shared my top tips to
maintain the momentum when you power through writing a book in a short burst of
time (i.e. a month):
To get back into the swing of regularly writing, I joined a group with a
fellow writer friend, Anita
MacCallum.
We meet up every 2 weeks, share writing prompts and just write.
Last week, one of our prompts was to sit somewhere else in the room and write about how
we felt in that space.
I had a clear image in my head when I chose an uncomfortable old seat
against a velvet drape.
It's a short piece, about being caught in that moment
and I thought I'd share it with you:
I wriggle my toes, unhook my shoulders, pitch my ankles up and down.
In front of me is darkness, a dusty hush in my forgotten little corner.
Here, behind the heavy, moth-eaten, velvet, curtain it smells of sandalwood and
boot polish.
I roll my shoulders, flex those feet once more. Taking slow, steady breaths,
I close my eyes and visualise all of their eyes, a constellation as I orbit the
stage. They're just behind me, and the glow of the spotlight is growing.
Eyes
wide, I glance down at myself, picturing the way the lace will flow and move
like cream. One more ritualistic flex of my ankles and the muscles of my calves tighten,
pushing against my lycra-painted flesh like bulky fists.
This is the moment; the calm, then contemplation as the cacophony commences.
A triumphant flourish from the assembled orchestra.
I tighten the ribbons, pack my petite breasts securely into my costume,
smoothing out the creases.
I stand, shake out the tension. I'm water, I'm light, I'm liquid and
sunshine.
A hushed whisper calls out from stage left, "1 minute to curtain
up."
It'll be the last time I hear those words.
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