Well it has been a while. Not since I wrote a blog, I did that yesterday, but since I wrote a blog that focused on why Writing in Shadows was created in the first place. I started this blog several years ago to write about the process of writing. Back then, as a young whipper-snapper of 40, I had dreams of writing a novel. Maybe a movie. Perhaps a series. Definitely more than a shopping list.
Everyone knows the benefits of ditching the cigarettes. Hell, the negative consequences are published in graphic pictures all over the boxes, so if you don’t know the main benefit associated to smoking is to quit them you’re slower than I am.
I’m a bit of a Johnny-Come-Lately to the world of Doctor Who. I remember as a kid watching it with Grandfather but I never bothered with the reboot until I got Netflix last year. The Australian selection of TV options was limited, to put it politely, so Doctor Who it was. I rather liked it. I must have I’ve watched all the available seasons twice.
I can’t remember a Christmas over the past decade or so that hasn’t ended in tears. The overwhelming sense of life passing me by, people who once were so important gone forever, family members who were the life of the party silenced.
I have to go on record in saying 2016 has been a pretty dismal year. On a world scale we’ve got wars and terrorism all over the place. On a personal scale I’ve been made redundant (again) and the depression I’ve been dealing with seems to be gaining ground on me lately. Frankly the sooner it’s over, the better.
When I was a young boy at school we were taught to describe, using lots of words, when we wrote stories. Essays, stories, reports, everything was done to a word count. Padding became second nature and as an adult ‘would-be’ novelist, it’s a trend I’ve continued.
I wrote this short story last year in a fit of creativity. I originally submitted it to a competition but it wasn’t right for them. Having read some of the winners pieces I can see why. It was a very different path taken to the winners and those who placed. I’m considering submitting another attempt this year. But in the meantime I have a short 600-odd word story, so I thought I’d put it up here. I hope you enjoy it, and if you do leave a comment. Hell, even if you don’t leave a comment. Constructive feedback is always welcome.
Yesterday I wrote about my “practice novel”, the next piece of writing I’m going to undertake to give myself something to practice on. To learn new techniques, to write only for the joy of telling the story and not worrying about publishing deals or publishing at all. To just write and learn and have some fun.
When you make the decision to write, whether it’s a: story, novel, novella, or short fiction piece, staying with the idea long enough to actually accomplish something can be easier said than done.
If there is one thing I’ve come to understand over the past few weeks, it’s that everything has to happen in it’s own time. Just because you may feel like you’re ready to get out there and take on the universe armed only with a sharp tongue and a broom handle doesn’t make it so. As I’ve continued on my journey out the backend of the syphilitic camel that is depression, I’ve found my energy all over the place. Some days I’m 10 feet tall and bullet proof, others I’m a fragile Southern Belle taking to my bed with the vapours. It’s a strange combination of moods that make each day a somewhat entertaining dance. At work I’m on top of it all. I’m bossy, demanding, exacting. A perfectionist who refuses to accept such well thought out and reasoned excuses such as “I’m busy,” as a reason for staff not doing things right the first time. I have high standards. I always have had. For me and for those around me. Trying to lead people to …