Process

Oh the joy of writing….

So far this week I’ve managed to write the prologue and, I think, a quarter of the first chapter.

Am I pleased? Well I am for making a start and the prose is baking nicely on medium heat.

I am also starting to see the style and shape of my writing process;

1. I have the main thread of the plot sorted but haven’t nailed all the detail just yet – I’m going to trust that by just getting on with it this will show me the way and open narrative doors.

2. I don’t know my characters fully yet either, but again, just writing should help with the finer details. I’ve actually complied some biographies which I want to share on this blog for your feedback, and further cement my understanding of the main protagonists.

3. I’m finding, just like applying a fresh face of make-up, that I’m editing as I go along. But I’m also getting myself into an anal pickle by re-reading and re-writing sentences ten times. There are a million ways a story can be written… So I think given my propensity to needle-in-haystack detail, I think the best way forward is to write a chapter and edit after it’s been written, otherwise this novel is going to take a very, very long time indeed.

4. At the moment I’ve found space for writing during a couple of evenings a week, and when the Little One is, ahem, engrossed in messy play or pining after Doctor Ranj on CBeebies – oddly enough, she’s been viewing a little more television of late.

I found the first paragraph, well actually the first sentence of the first chapter the most challenging to write. There have already been many, many corrections but I think it’s quite a nice lead in. What do you think?

Outside, East Berlin waits muted, heavy, in that early morning January silence; ’98, only a week in.  I can hear the low mechanical hum of a street cleaner’s brushes erasing curbs of gum, and newspaper, and dog shit, while the odd car sounds a self-righteous horn – I can’t figure out why, when the roads, to my half-baked awareness, are empty, erased of confused weekend traffic and idle pedestrians bound and gagged by their thoughts. Inside, the air conditioning exhales with an asthmatic rattle, dulling the sound of falling water in the bathroom. It was four when I pulled the duvet over my head, an illogical attempt at drowning out the ringing in my ears, ringing that sounded like the persistent whistling of an old metal kettle. 

Feedback most appreciated….

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