Something I read in a forum post has given me the idea to write the WIP as a play and then make it a novel. There is a lot of interaction and dialogue in this book so it seems like a great idea – but do I really want to send myself off at tangents? At the moment it’s in first person and has an internal dialogue with a ghost, or imaginary friend – inner advisor perhaps. I’ve been struggling with the first chapter and wondering if I’m beginning in the right place; if I write it as a play, I’d cut the first chapter (which is a road-trip) and the ghost (maybe).
So there I go again second-guessing myself and throwing doubt on the fire.
Then on the way home from town I had the idea of telling the story in a couple of pages, really creating a whole outline to see what happens. Is this yet another tangent? I haven’t written anything in a few weeks but my head is swimming with the problem of this first chapter. Some fellow Litopians gave me great critiques and I’ve been musing for a while on that beginning…and then that same treacherous mind suggests digging up another old novel to work on – but I don’t want to do that until I know that this WIP is on the right road.
I move through piles of work, sometimes re-working a poem or short story plus writing a story every month for a flash competition in my writing colony, but I don’t touch the other novel projects. Now I’m asking myself why not. I couldn’t be anymore distracted than I am now. I’ve gone from not reading anything to listening to four of Tolken’s books on audio in a week – takes me back to my days lolling about Spain.
My head has been solidly in Middle Earth while I rode the train to work on two Mondays, bussed into Alexandria (lazy old fart that I am) and relaxing at home, instead of watching TV. Fantastic…and the guy reading has such a great span of voices that it feels visual, and I haven’t dozed off once – not like when listening to Austen’s work.
When I told my friend what I’d been doing, she emailed back with this:
Never expected to hear you say you hadn’t read a book in ages unless you were tied up or had a stroke and even then you would send for me to read to you. There’s something to be said for Victorian women employing poor relations to look after them and read out loud. I could get used to that. Unfortunately I’m afraid I would have been the poor relation. Oh well I suppose you can’t have everything.
Now, I like the idea of a poor relation coming to read aloud to me – why didn’t I think of that before? The thing is I think I’m the poorest relation! Never mind, I’ll make do with audio books.
Meanwhile back in the land of tangential distractions, it’s time for some home-made rice pudding and then I have to work – though working from home, sitting in bed with the laptop and talking on the phone is really no hardship. The life of a Tarot reader is and can be inspiring.