Occasionally, and I’m sure fiction writers can relate, I get completely absorbed by a narrative; I resent having to come up for air. I become obsessive about some stories. Not all of them, just the odd one takes more out of me than others. I lose a sense of balance elsewhere in my life. There’s little spiritual growth happening, no meditation or Al-Anon meetings. There’s certainly little exercise besides the odd walk on the beach or into town.
But I’ve finished this one now. Just now. Tonight. Five minutes before I started to write this blog post actually.
At nearly 18,000 words, it’s a long one. And it’s about a trauma, so the absorption hasn’t been fun.
It isn’t completely finished, but the bones are there. And some flesh, in fact. We’ll see what the other writers in my class think about it, but not for a while. I’ll let it sit now. Get a couple of friends to read it through maybe. Tweak it later in the year with a fresh pair of eyes.
Over the next few days, I’ll go for swim, get a facial, and I’ve decided to buy a new pair of running shoes in the sales at the weekend. I’ll read some George Saunders and Richard Ford and then I’ll start writing something entirely new in a pristine notebook.
Something a bit more cheerful. Shorter.
If I haven’t visited your blog for a while, then I probably will shortly. If I have left a comment unanswered, I’m sorry, I’ll see to it soon. I love the blog world; those peeks into the thoughts of others, and the chance to express mine. I’ve missed it, but I’ve been working
too hard and now I’m back.