Creative writing course
Last year I attended the first part of a three part (hopefully), creative writing course. Part one proved itself to be invaluable as it gave me the push I needed to start writing my first novel as well as affording me the opportunity to meet some great people.
Part two started this evening, it was great to see a few familiar faces from last year as well as welcoming the new blood which have just started. This semester/term appears to focus more on plot and pacing, whereas the first part of the course was very much focused on getting your pen on the paper (or fingers on the keyboard in my case) and start writing.
I have used this as an opportunity to start a new novel, granted I’ve not even made it halfway through my first one yet but I appear to be a little stuck and I’d read elsewhere that if you get stuck it can be good to start another story otherwise you may become complacent. Indeed that is exactly what had happened and I realised that I had not written anything in almost two months! (apart from the odd blog post).
Here is a snippet of what I wrote tonight, it is the beginning of the prologue to my new novel ‘The Ghost of You’:
‘Your going to die alone dude’ he said to the mirror, the reflection looked hurt and Anthony felt a tear in the corner of his eye, he didn’t cry.
He left the bathroom, the tub was dry, no drips fell from the shower, the only thing wet was the toilet seat, he hadn’t washed his hands.
He flopped down on the sofa and turned on his ridiculously large television, he contemplated going back to bed but it was already one in the afternoon so he decided against it. With the exception of a toilet break and getting up to make a sandwich all he did that afternoon was watch TV.
‘Its amazing how productive you can feel watching television’, Anthony thought to himself after watching his sixth episode of Fringe that afternoon, ‘worrying really, I’d best do something productive’
He left the living room and walked into his study, he turned on his computer and opened up his text editor’. ‘Two hours of writing’ he said to himself out loud ‘and then bed’.
He put his fingers on the keyboard but no words came out, he felt frustrated that he couldn’t even manage one blog post. ‘Pathetic’ he heard himself say.
‘You are not pathetic’ came the reply. He knew that voice was in his head, however it sounded softer than his usual inner monologue, tender and soothing rather than bitter and angry. For a brief moment he thought he caught the whiff of perfume, he sniffed the air deeply, nothing. ‘Imagining things now eh? Great, maybe going mad will give you something to do’