There are three books I’d like to write, and they’ve been battling with each-other in my head for a while now. The first one would be a entertaining yarn of a girl meets world; a twenty something battling the frustrating world of men, work and familial strife (wonder where that comes from?), but in a witty, humorous and unique way a la Kinsella and Marian Keyes. OK, Slightly predictable I know.
Next up is the sci fi epic I’d love to write, a combination of fantasy warring with science in a dazzling landscape full of costumed characters with magical powers, where epic adventures await someone… And finally, there’s the beautiful lyrical novel, where nothing much happens but the prose is so elaborate and detailed you want to cry with joy just by reading the overly elaborate descriptions of someone buttering toast.
But having three simultaneous ideas is tricky and I don’t know where to begin- so I’ll write about it instead. Right now I have an evening free where I could easily start one of these; and yet I don’t. But why is that? I have a couple of ideas…
1: It’s a Friday. Surely starting a life changing novel shouldn’t be done on a night associated with bitching about work and consuming copious amounts of booze?
2: It’s really, really important that I bid on that great eBay dress- 2 hours to go means it needs to be carefully scrutinized and refreshed regularly.
3: Oh, and I have about three weeks worth of laundry that really needs to be done. Sleeping in control pants as I have no pajama bottoms is simply silly AND uncomfortable.
4: Perhaps I should backup my computer. I wouldn’t want to start writing an epic and then lose all the work due to faulty hard drive..perhaps a system reboot and defrag is in order as well.
5: Ooh, Season one of Dollhouse has just downloaded and I’ve had a bit of a girl crush on Eliza ever since Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
6: Hmm, and surely I should update my blog??
Yes, I realize they’re all poor excuses and the real reason is perhaps fear; fear of the unknown, fear that the flow of words may either not come easily or be piss poor, and fear of the fact that I’m now 26 and thought I’d have already one published novel under my belt by now (I’m not counting the one I wrote at 14, as the rejection letters for that still sting).
I am trying; I’ve TOLD people that I’m trying to write so they’ll encourage me; but that leads to more pressure and the awful question, ‘How’s the novel going?‘ is always a convo killer. I’m not going to pretend I’m going to finish this post and go write 5000 words now, but the fact that I’ve written and published this piece means that next time I go to the blog this article MAY inspire me to actually create some fiction rather than just add to these ramblings.