On structure and strangeness.

As has been extensively covered on this website, I am finding my way on full flail through the whole ‘writer’ thing. I’ve managed to write one book which has been published; I’ve written another which is in edits. Between finishing the second and starting the third I have briefly switched disciplines and pushed out a couple of screenplays*, which has been fun. However, now it is undeniably time to get started on the third book. I’ve written an intro which I was quite happy with, 1.500 words on a first chapter and  an outline which had some stuff in it. However it didn’t feel right. And by that I probably mean ‘sound, look or indeed feel like the works I’ve read obsessively in the last sort of 10-15 years, or different enough to be appreciated on its own merits’.

Then, yesterday, I sat down with enough headspace to do some work on the outline, and think I’ve got it right (for a given value of ‘it’, anyway). Today I’ve clobbered together 820 words of something else, and I feel like the start of the story is right - in the right place, at the right time, with the right people.

It’s funny how** tricky it is sometimes to step back, intellectualize the problems and move forward cleverly. The Pit of Mild Despair is deep and full of writers.

But the good bit is that I am actually cooking with gas. On a very low heat at the moment, but gas is being cooked with.

Tutuloo!

-Snorri

* Don’t worry about the nonchalance. I am aware of how twerpy I sound and am actively punching myself in the face while writing this.

** for me, your mileage may vary, yes it’s painfully obvious, [insert disclaimer here]