Crack on anyway

Holidays ended for me this week and it’s been all systems go. Bed early and up early. 

Last year I allowed myself to slide into a later routine which was unhelpful. I work better in the mornings and some days I wouldn’t get to my desk until after lunch. I did some work on my ‘middle grade’ story last year, mostly research and brainstorming, with very little actual writing. For example, we went to the circus three times last year. That’s some serious research. I still didn’t write the circus scene.  Just thinking about it gave me the heebie jeebies. I became complacent with my writing. I lost my passion for the story. Turns out I’m scared of it. Who knew? Fear can make us numb and disinterested. Fear has been a menacing presence, in the back of my head space, mocking me and giving me the creeps any time I thought about writing the story.

Instead of writing my story, I did online courses in painting and drawing. They were fun. I didn’t have a goal apart from wanting to stretch myself creatively. My drawing/painting improved and I don’t hate it as much as I did. That’s a good thing right? I spent more time out of my comfort zone than in it. While I was drawing, my inner critic woke up and ripped me to shreds. I pushed through because I was having fun. I learned a valuable lesson. The voice gets quieter the more you crack on anyway.

This year, I plan to write. Since Monday, I have been back at my desk, working hard to get back into my story. It’s a tangled mess of scenes with huge plot holes and glaring mistakes. Apparently this is normal. Every time I thought about writing my story, I felt an inner freezing sensation in my gizzards. I convinced myself I wasn’t clever, brave or skilled enough to write it. Despite doing five million online courses in writing and reading a gazillion books on writing, apparently I don’t know how to write anymore.

I ended 2023, with reading Holly Ringland’s book, ‘The House That Joy Built.’ I took it a chapter at a time, writing notes as I went. Yes, it’s that good. I’m half way through the chapter on procrastination, which is ironic. I’d give you a full blown book review if I knew how to write one and if I was finished reading. It’s brilliant. Instead, take my word for it, do yourself a favour and buy a copy.

The holidays, such as they were, are behind me and I’ve been working out what I need to get this story finished. I know I need motivation/encouragement/accountability/discipline and a bunch of other stuff. 

I have put some things in place to make sure I keep pushing through this year. 

1. Bed early and up early. We are usually night owls – old rock and roll habits. (I have been getting early nights since Sunday. Gold star to me!)

2. Writing first, drawing or painting second – with my cool new paints as a treat. (I’ve worked on rewriting scenes in my story twice this week and I’m writing this today.  Go me! I might get to do some painting.)

3. Join a writing group.  Not a critique group – I’ve been in a critique group. *shudder* (I joined a writing group and we have met twice. Perfect.)

4. Writing prompts and timers to practice the skill of writing. (I usually avoid writing prompts. They feel like a distraction from ‘the story’ I am meant to be writing. I have a tendency to fall in love with stories and characters too easily. I still think about characters I’ve written, using prompts, who are half way up mountains facing dragons, or kidnapped on pirate ships needing rescue, waiting for the rest of their story to be written. I need the practice so I am going to write them anyway.)

5. Ignore the fear and do it anyway. (Evidence below)

Today I wrote for ten minutes using a timer and some card prompts – Wayfarer cards – published by Pardalote Press, Illustrated by Lorena Carrington and written by Sophie Masson.

If you can hang around long enough to read it, I have included it here:

The ancient oak tree spoke quietly to the she wolf as she sat waiting under its spreading branches. 

‘Seek the truth with care,’ It’s leaves whispered to her. 

Her fur ruffled in the the light evening breeze. She listened to the roots, under the damp earth, as they wove a path to the Everdark forest. She had been sitting under the tree since well before moonrise. Her stomach growled in protest. It was time to hunt. She waited. Perhaps there would be more, a direction. Without her mate she was lost. His scent, a distant memory. The image of his scarred face was dimming. She remembered beautiful black tipped ears and golden eyes that pierced the depths of her soul. 

The moon disappeared behind the clouds, illuminating them. She saw a tall, spired man-den appear in the air. She blinked. Water cascaded down and around steep cliffs and the leaves whispered once more. 

‘In the world beyond worlds’

Her heart sank. How could she find this place if it was beyond this world? 

She waited for more. 

Nothing.

A light rain began to dampened her fur. Giving up, she loped down the wolf track toward the Everdark. Perhaps a hunt would sharpen her senses. Her pups would be waking soon, hungry.

She slunk past the open gates of an enormous man-den on the edge of the forest. This one she could find.  It was not floating in the air. Instead it was filled with man-pack and their cubs. The reek of them filled her nostrils bringing a snarl to her lips. A low growl escaped her throat. The hatred ran deep. An image of her mate lying pierced and dying flitted through her thoughts. The familiar smell of his life-blood drifted through her mind like smoke. 

She froze. Behind the slightly open gate a man shuffled his feet. The gravel grating under his boots. The smell of his fear was sharp and tangy in her nose. The moon appeared behind the high turrets of the man-den. Was that swan she could smell? Tempting, but too noisy this close to the stinking man-pack. 

Dismissing it, she slunk into the shadows, scenting the air. The man shifted once more. She was tempted to bite and tear with tooth and claw. She wanted to spill his blood.  He was hungry too. She could smell he hadn’t eaten for some time, and when he had, it wasn’t meat. She shook her head and snuffed to get the smell out of her nostrils. Why man ate grain was a puzzle she had no time for. His fear spiked. She stood motionless in the shadows. Would the man be stupid and risk his life? No, I thought not. 

She would hunt the Ever dark and start her journey with a full belly. Her pups were waiting. Once fed, their journey could begin. She turned and loped off toward the Everdark and the promise of the hunt.

If you made it this far – gold star for you! Thank you for reading. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to crack on.