Archive | January, 2012

Mental time travel

31 Jan

One month into my writing and I have spilled just over 50,000 words into MS Word. Divided neatly into segmented chapters, most of the words came easy to me as the story had spun around in my head of  about 15 years. I want to leave the editing to last – turn off my inner editor – write as much as I can now then leave the manuscript for a month or two and then review it as a whole, possibly countless times, until it is right. It is a lengthy road ahead I fear. But because I have waited so long for the chance to do this, spending eight hours at the laptop every day did not faze me  – in fact I relished the opportunity to finally get my story on paper.

What I didn’t foresee was the impact of the mental time travel. So far, some of it is great  and I was surprised at how much of the detail I remembered when I transported myself back to times gone by – the nostalgia, the wonder at things once forgotten, the innocent childhood memories. Those pages came really fast.

The other side of that coin was in the sad part of the story so far. I began to relive past emotions physically, the same sensations arresting my body as though I was back in that time and place.  It was a complete transportation back to scenes that I had previously reconciled with myself internally. When writing about them however, the raw emotions manifested themselves once again. Just like when you smell something and it briefly brings you back to a time for a few moments, only this was stronger.

The saddest bits are yet to be written, so I have to go buy a suitable time travel suit.


The start of the beginning

27 Jan

My mother always told me things happened for a reason.

I never really understood that – it was more or less an acceptance that the mysterious concept of ‘fate’ existed.  It was also a way of rationalising  unfair events that came your way. Plus, when you finally got to making amends with the fall out of the situation, you could probably still find just as many reasons why it shouldn’t have happened, as you could find reasons why it should have happened.

It was not the way it was meant to be. That’s another one. A way of appeasing yourself, when deep down you knew you probably could have done things differently or handled things better.

That was my general outlook. How could we not have control over our own destiny, our own life-paths?

Some-time ago, I began to see things differently, which is a nut-shell is why I find myself here. Writing was something I enjoyed all my life – the construction of full-bodied lyrical sentences, finding the right word that conveyed exactly what you were trying to say and watching your words come alive on a page when you read them back . I wrote stories as a child and countless diaries as a teenager. I wrote for a student newspaper and wrote many, many scrawled pages bursting with emotion following a break-up or heartache.

Then one day, my whole world as I knew it stopped.

And I began to write – properly. I don’t know if the pages of my half-written book are any good yet, but I just keep writing. And I love it and feel more liberated than I have ever, ever felt.

Maybe things do happen for a reason after all.


Hello world!

27 Jan

Here I am in the Blogosphere, it took me a while, but I am here now.

%d bloggers like this: