It is day 3 of my cat-sitting house-minding writing retreat. So far I have picked cherries, outlined my book, worked out why my hero was where he was and am writing a lovely scene in a garden where in a moment my hero and heroine will share one of those small uncensored moments that offers a glimpsed vulnerability of the soul and ties the first binds of love.
I noticed that as I ticked off my to-do list of chores and my mind became more reassured that the list wasn’t repopulating faster than I could empty it, the space was turned over to fermenting the story. Or I should say stories. I can’t say that I write one story at a time. Nor do I stay in a single genre. I allow myself to write notes on a completely different story or if I have an idea for a scene I write it, regardless of what I am working on. This is a perfect recipe for endless procrastination, and sometimes it does serve this function, but more importantly it also allows the muse freedom. Given how fickle she can be this is no small concession.
So how important is it to give yourself the luxury of some quality time between you and your writing? It has the same importance as finding those meaningful minutes you devote to your nearest and dearest. How else can you hear what you truly have to say? How else can you connect with the real feelings of your characters? Their pain? Their Joy? Their suffering? The reason sometimes stories just leap onto the page is because that story has been fermenting quietly in the room in your mind where creativity lives. It has risen like a dirigible out of a cloud bank – ready to fill your sky with words, words and more words.
What could be more wonderful than to join your band of adventurers and embrace the untold journey ahead?
A writer’s joy is to fling themselves off the cliff into the unknown and find the wind lifting them into wild tearing winds of chance.