'You have got to believe in the project, the book itself. You have to find the WILL, and then the energy will follow.'
Lorrie Moore
Working on my novel last week, I came a bit unstuck. I'd been on quite a roll up to that point, sitting for hours at a time and loving the process of re-drafting and reading bits out loud, trying to hear what worked best. I think it's because the original draft of the novel did actually start off pretty well, and that's what encouraged some agents the first time round to ask for the full manuscript. But then, a few chapters in, it flounders....and so did I. Now I know this is good news in one way, because it's clear to me now in a way it never was before that some of my writing is forced, unauthentic and frankly, pretty crap. But it seems that my roll has creaked to a slow-down, and here's where the hard graft begins and I have to painstakingly delete pages and pages of this nonsense I once believed was so well written. And from the blank page, I need to begin all over again.
However, I take heart from the quote of Lorrie Moore's I read recently. Because I DO believe in this project, I truly do, and I honestly believe this is a story that needs to be told. A couple of weeks ago a friend lent me a DVD called 'La lengua de las mariposas' (The butterfly's tongue), a moving story set in a Spanish civil war in a Galician village. It is about the relationship between an inspiring teacher and a young boy and how the boy has to betray his teacher when war breaks out. Although my Spanish is pretty rusty, the film had me weeping my heart out by the end. I kept thinking how could this have happened? Civil war must be the ugliest of conflicts as its pits people against one another who were once as close as family, even family members themselves. Anyway, my point is that the will to write this book is 110% within me, now I need the energy to make this will a reality to help me fill that blank page.
As I type this, my little boy aged fifteen months is sitting opposite me in his high chair guzzling chopped up banana and squishing it between his fingers before chucking it around the room. Even if I never get this book published, one day I want him to read this book his mama wrote and sense that this was a story I believed in.
Lorrie Moore
Working on my novel last week, I came a bit unstuck. I'd been on quite a roll up to that point, sitting for hours at a time and loving the process of re-drafting and reading bits out loud, trying to hear what worked best. I think it's because the original draft of the novel did actually start off pretty well, and that's what encouraged some agents the first time round to ask for the full manuscript. But then, a few chapters in, it flounders....and so did I. Now I know this is good news in one way, because it's clear to me now in a way it never was before that some of my writing is forced, unauthentic and frankly, pretty crap. But it seems that my roll has creaked to a slow-down, and here's where the hard graft begins and I have to painstakingly delete pages and pages of this nonsense I once believed was so well written. And from the blank page, I need to begin all over again.
However, I take heart from the quote of Lorrie Moore's I read recently. Because I DO believe in this project, I truly do, and I honestly believe this is a story that needs to be told. A couple of weeks ago a friend lent me a DVD called 'La lengua de las mariposas' (The butterfly's tongue), a moving story set in a Spanish civil war in a Galician village. It is about the relationship between an inspiring teacher and a young boy and how the boy has to betray his teacher when war breaks out. Although my Spanish is pretty rusty, the film had me weeping my heart out by the end. I kept thinking how could this have happened? Civil war must be the ugliest of conflicts as its pits people against one another who were once as close as family, even family members themselves. Anyway, my point is that the will to write this book is 110% within me, now I need the energy to make this will a reality to help me fill that blank page.
As I type this, my little boy aged fifteen months is sitting opposite me in his high chair guzzling chopped up banana and squishing it between his fingers before chucking it around the room. Even if I never get this book published, one day I want him to read this book his mama wrote and sense that this was a story I believed in.


