Writing and Publishing

I feel compelled to write when I absolutely feel like it. This is why my blog isn’t overloaded with posts at the moment. Starting my new course I suddenly realised that my comfort zone of sitting down when I feel like it and writing what I want does not happen in the world of the writing business. When your publisher says “write another one”, you better believe you’ll be getting up every morning, showering and sitting down for hours on end staring at a blank page or staring at a blank computer. For most of us, this seems like an enjoyable thing and a place where many ideas come from. For me, it’s terrifying. Lucky for me I will be the annoying person who writers tend to end up hating.

But in the meantime, completing a writing and publishing course requires completing both the publishing side...and the writing. It’s both exciting and scary at the same time and I have no idea what story I will write. Funnily enough though, I know exactly who I’m going to dedicate it to. I’ve got dedications and ideas but, as we all know, ideas are just the beginning of something that needs to grow.

So when asked to sit down and write in class in Tuesday I started to think about how my mind works when asked to write when it doesn’t want to. And here’s what I came up with:

First, I write out questions I want answered. Some examples are:

How do people cope with death?

How do people understand the concept of death?

What makes us hate everything or embrace everything?

Then I think of characters who I think should explore these questions. But because I’m only showing you a small part of my draft I don’t want to give away my characters motivations and thoughts just yet, so we come to the third where I start to jump in and out of the mind of these characters testing them in different situations and deciding as I write what they will say and do. This character took me here. Tell me what you think:

I drove my car slowly up the driveway, cautiously almost even though there was nothing threatening ahead. I couldn’t tell you why the house frightened me. Standing tall and proud among the other houses that looked much the same as the one I was pursuing. Vines draped across the windows and snaked delicately down swaying slowly in the breeze. The house itself was red-bricked and seemed quite solid, a contrast to the vines. I decided on that day that I would hate the vines. That I would loathe the vines. That I would possibly cut them down just because of their delicacy. The fact that they couldn’t hurt me because they were nothing excited me, yet I hated them for making their weakness seem like a beauty.

My second day in the house proved to be pointless even when I was still unpacking. Nothing suited the house. My glass ornaments that were particularly special to me looked cheap and out of place against the rustic floorboards and wooden surroundings. I settled for rugs being decorations and hid away the glass ornaments. They didn’t even belong to me so I didn’t see why I should even be displaying them. I decided on that day that I would hate the house. That I would hate everything about it. The walls, the floors, everything.

Hope you like it!

Jinx xx

P.S new ideas require new pictures on my blog. This is kitty (Cornelius) and I bonding on my couch as I read another E. Lockhart book Fly on the wall.