After spending a number of harrowing days trying to plan, plot, and replot, sort out the characters and their characteristics, discover locations and read up on them, learn as much as possible about the props, it was time to let loose the pencil.
But, sadly, all the plotting in the world does not translate to instant words on a page.
I started writing. Great.
I hated what I wrote.
The blank page was staring back at me, daring me to write more of those terrible words, disorganized thoughts, random passages that had no connection.
No, it’s not writer’s block.
It’s pressure, the pressure of having to write 1,800 odd words in a day, this day, and tomorrow, and the day after that.
I go outside and look at the mess in the backyard, the one I’ve been promising to do something about for the last 10 years. Perhaps it’s now time.
As rubbish goes into the bin, ideas form, passages start writing themselves in my mind, plot lines seem to materialize and make sense.
I go back in and write.
Day 1 over, 1,916 words written.
Just think, come tomorrow I have to go through all this again. Sigh!