Writing, why does it need to be difficult? Why do we feel the need to constrain our language, keeping only the language suitable for a classroom or boardroom? Why can’t we write in the same fashion as we talk? Why are we branded as uneducated or uncouth if we try to emulate the language of the street? It makes no sense. It makes the process harder. If it was more acceptable to write in the fashion of everyday language then I don’t think I’d get writers block nearly half as much.
I’m currently writing 4 different stories. I know probably not a great idea, but I find it helps get the creative juices flowing, if I’m thinking of more than one scenario at a time. But still I yearn for the ability to just open the laptop, or notebook and write. Short stories aren’t very short when you consider they take months to write.
Yet I still love the freedom of expression that writing gives. The transformation from simple words on a page into a heart wrenching story. I wish I was better at that process, and so I try to write, as often as I can. But the stories just won’t come. I keep calling and calling, searching the inner reaches of my brain for the topic I so cleverly thought of earlier that day. The entire prose that I conjured up in my head. A whole story from start to finish. Gone. The basic idea will still be there, but the words I used to describe it are gone. Never to be seen again.
Sure I keep a notebook with me all the time. Unfortunately it’s illegal to stop on a motorway to write down my ideas. Also a hectic family life doesn’t help. Every moment of every day is block booked. From the moment I wake I’m doing something or other. Let me flesh out an average day for you, Wake around 6am, and trudge downstairs to leave the hyperactive dog out of her kennel. Chase her around they garden, once ensnared, I take her for a 3 mile walk. Home for shortly after 7am, it’s into the shower and into my work clothes, out the door by half 7 for the 20 minute commute to work. I then spend all day in front of a computer screen, much like this one. 4:15, quittin’ time. Home to walk the dog for a second time. Get home from the walk and my wife is home with the dinner on. Eat and clean up, then I get into my house work…..no not that kind. The type of work which requires a hammer and/or drill (the joys of bringing an old house back from the brink). I hopefully get to sit down around half 8 or 9pm, at which point I’m physically and mentally drained. Oh and did I mention my wife is pregnant?
So there are fun times ahead. The only reason I’m getting time to write this little essay, is my glorious wife is at the other end of the country this weekend, It’s half 8 of a Saturday morning and I’ve been awake for the last two and a half hours. The dog is walked. I’m back in bed, and now I’m contemplating breakfast. I’ve ignored this blog for some time. But I feel that I should probably start writing articles for it again. If for no other reason but to stretch my literary legs.