Tuesday 30 March
Work on the second novel seems to be going well. I say “seems” because until the first draft is completed it’s difficult to be sure. Unlike other art forms, in writing one can only work on a small piece of the whole at a time, without being able to simultaneously take in all the ramifications of plot, dialogue, character etc. I focus on the intimate in the hope that eventually a meaning will emerge.
Some authors plan their work meticulously so that each twist and turn of the plot is already known. That makes sense, but I find it impossible to work that way. I need to be as surprised by the story as my readers. It’s a dangerous strategy, as one can, after months of work, find oneself more confused than when one started.
Writing is an obsession that at its best or worst can make everything else seem trivial. Why someone must write, paint or compose music is a mystery to me. Perhaps it’s nothing more complicated than a desire to make sense of oneself, and the necessity to communicate with other people comes later. There again, perhaps it’s just another way of relieving boredom.
Thought of the week: Never go to the doctors when you’re ill, it puts you at a disadvantage