There are certain things I can only do when I’m happy. One of those things is writing. It’s been what feels like ages since I really wrote. I blog yes, but blogging is not really the same thing as ‘writing’. Time was when I could open up a word document and start typing and an hour later I’d have ten pages worth of story. I’ve had a few stalled attempts, most of which have started on my hols when I’m relaxed and have then fizzled when I’ve gone back to work and other things have taken over my brain.
And then, out of the blue, two days ago, it started happening again.
I had been staring at a blank word document for about ten minutes. Wanting to write something, but unaware of what on earth it was that wanted to be written. There was something banging at the door, but I couldn’t find the right key. So I started typing with the vague idea of reworking a children’s story I’d written as a teenager. A fairy tale from the ‘other’ point of view, it was originally nothing more than a bit of loosely structured fun. Far from serious, and certainly far from dark.
Instead the words
My world is not like yours….that is something you need to understand directly….
Came out of my fingertips without my knowledge, and what followed was not loosely structured, nor light, nor anything like what I had intended to write.
I should say right away that this is not a story that is going to appeal to everyone. I don’t think it’s meant to. If you have any problem with slightly alternative (though not as alternative in these more open-minded times) romances or unconventional relationships, you might find the tale I seem to be spinning not to your taste. It’s certainly not something I would be attempting to publish in Russia for example!
But it feels so amazing to be writing again. I haven’t really written in years, not since I finished Last Light of the Goddess (my poor baby, after all that work she lies neglected on my website, having not sold a single copy in two years). The last time I completed a writing project was my second summer as a ship-girl, the summer of the Party Band and late night pasta and such. More proof that I can only really write when I’m happy.
More proof that I …seem to be happy here.