It has been a while since I sat down at the computer and really gave it my all with writing again (find out why here) but thanks to a new short story competition I have been inspired once again.
The competition – Olga Sinclair – has been launched by Norwich Writers’ Circle in memory of one of their members. With it being based local to myself I thought why the hell not give it a go, the problem being it has had me bashing my head against the desk ever since.
I dusted off the cobwebs on my computer keyboard – which to be honest I’m surprised I even managed to find in my tiny, filled-to-the-brim-with-baby-stuff, office – made a cuppa and took with me some biscuits from the kitchen.
I loved my original idea – albeit a bit “out there” – so I quickly typed up what I had in my mind just to get it down. I then left it a couple of weeks before reading it again. It was utter tosh. A great idea but my two-year-old could have written it better.
All those years away from writing had not only knocked my confidence but also my ability. Had I already reached my peak and the moment was now gone? I honestly wanted to give up there and then but isn’t that what got me into this mess in the first place? Giving up, excuses, life…
So I sat there and made it work.
Three hours later I had started to make progress. Yes I had only written 300 words but finally those 300 words started to feel like mine. I spent 179 of those 180 minutes telling myself the idea was shit, the writing childish, the whole thing laughable.
It. Was. Hard. Work.
How does that little voice even manage to get so loud inside your head? You would think with all those characters floating around in there that little monster would just do one – but he didn’t. He also didn’t beat me.
I now have the start of something worth entering. There’s character development, a background story, a plausible reason why things are the way they are… I’m finally getting somewhere. Do I think I will win? No. Why am I bothering? Because I want to share my words with someone else and maybe get them to smile, just a little, at what they read.
The monster’s voice is still there and I know he won’t go – alas, the life of a creative mind – but maybe I need him if only to prove him wrong.