Snow coincidence

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Though I've written lots on how I write, I've never written a blog post about "How To" write. I'll tell you why. Because other people have written them already. Hey, I'm all for making efficient use of my time. The reason I'm posting this is because I just finished the first draft of the novel I've been working on since August. (I actually wrote the first chapter back in July, from a plan I've been working on and mulling over since 2007, when I first arrived in New Zealand - hint there, folks). Wellsy, one way I've been spending the snatches of time I've had away from writing has been to read other novellists' posts/advice on the whole process.

One blog I'd highly recommend to anyone contemplating the novel journey is Tom Vowler's. His debut, What Lies Within, has just been published (my copy's ordered) which proves he knows what he's talking about.

I was struck by the similarities between Tom's analogy and the very impressively illustrated one in the most recent blog post of another talented writer, Dan Purdue.

And the whole sculpture analogy brings me back around to how I write, because bookending the writing of my first ever novel - now safely stored out of society's way, no fear - I studied to become an artist then a designer. During this time, as well as painting, I made sculpture and pots (like Grayson Perry). Here's one of mine. Coincidentally, it's inspired by a landscape under snow.

Which - I like tying up plot threads - brings me to my final where to go for "How To" for this post: Catherine McNamara's got some excellent advice on both novel and short story writing, and as she quotes in her most recent post "coincidences happen when you are on the right path". Here's hoping.

Not blown it slid

Sun dog at Bradwell, 2007. If you look closely at things which seem, on first glance, to be too expansive - such as this sky - you can be surprised by the most beautiful details. All you have to do is look for them, then stay focussed.

At times it can be difficult to visualise. Stacks of books which have slid into chaos and are peppered with notebooks may not look like they have purpose. Stapled gatherings of academic papers, theories wild and tame, weighed down. Sprigs of plants and pressed flowers. Pencils marking pages and more post-it notes than it takes to feather a notice board. Sometimes I look at it and am overwhelmed. Frustrated. This is my novel.

I imagine it like a small aviator.

You can't see it?

Currently it's over feathered, over fed, and has too much unneccessary weight.

I am going to lift away the extra layers.

When I have finished it will have a strong and powerful core with two beautiful sleek wings to carry it all the way to publication.

I can do this. Sometimes I have to remind myself.