Writing has been a continuous part of my life. I wrote novels for fun
when I was a teenager but never finished them and now I've come back to
it; picking up the story from 6 years ago but in an entirely new
format. I don't have that massive word document from 2007 anymore but
the general outline, the world it existed in, remains in my head still.
It
came out of nowhere really; a document was opened, I'd graduated
university and I was longing for something to do in my free time, I
stared at the blank pages then began to tap some stuff in. I hadn't
planned anything; I knew nothing of the middle or end of the book, I had
no character ideas, no concept as to where this was going but it's as
though the book wrote itself.
My characters' personalities were
formed as the words were. I didn't put myself in their shoes. They were
in their shoes. I still don't know everything there is about Clara, my
lead character; a thirteen year old girl who's beginning to realize that
she's unwittingly involved in something much bigger than she is. I'll know her when she
reveals herself to me, through the decisions that she makes and the
reactions that she forms. In real life things aren't planned out
perfectly; sometimes life is illogical and confusing, in fact, it often
is. Rarely do things go the way they were intended so why should my
books be any different? When I write, I write as though it were real
with all the complexities and mistakes, plot holes that will be filled
with time and emotional blunting, or overemotional reactions, that form
the personalities of real people all around the world.
I'm nowhere
near finished with it; I have more of an outline than I used to as the
story is revealing itself to me over time, but to finish this novel
takes so much emotion as, when I write, I live the experiences alongside
Clara because otherwise it's just not real enough. I make it real, with the help of my characters.

No comments:
Post a Comment