Last week was such a frustrating time for me, for so many reasons and the end of my rope seems to be getting ever closer.
These good and bad days I swear would try the patience of a saint. This is something I have never professed to be, so maybe I had it coming. Despite the frustration, I approached the new WIP, only to find an alien pile of scribblings that looked only vaguely familiar. I read the last thing I wrote but nothing happened, no clear direction, nothing. I went back even further, with the same results. My heart sank to the floor as it was beginning to look as though I would have to start again.
At this point, my brain nearly went crazy. I wanted to cry, scream, or leave the building and couldn’t make up my mind which. Fortunately, I have a running storyboard of sorts, with a tenuous thread running to the end, something I have not done before, so I studied it, desperately seeking inspiration.
But my brain wouldn’t budge.
Maybe, I thought, had I chosen the wrong genre? I wanted to deviate a little and drop the crime element. Try something that didn’t need detectives crawling all over it, like a psychological thriller.
By now, I was beginning to feel as though I had lost whatever writing ability I thought I had, along with my brain and my muse. Not that she has ever been a great help to me, more the opposite really. She can argue the hind legs off a donkey and can always find at least three reasons why something won’t work, so I’m not missing her half as much as the contents of my brain.
All this confusion has triggered off some very serious thinking about my future in the cyberworld. Not sure if it’s me or has everything suddenly become more complicated? I am forgetting things more and more and find myself doing the oddest of things (like trying to put the kettle in the fridge) so perhaps it is me.
This needs a lot more thought (if this is even possible these days) so will see you all next week with hopefully some better ideas for the future!
©Jaye Marie 2020
My first trip to Scotland had to be Loch Ness.
I would be the one to find Nessie.
Cameral ready, I sat for hours that felt like days
Numb bum was setting in,
I had no intentions of moving
The long stretch of glass-like water
Had me spellbound
I knew underneath that dancing light
Nessie might be swimming in the darkness
Waiting to pop up just for me
I wondered how he managed to stay alive so long
Did he have a companion, young ones?
To keep this story alive
The day grew old, the loch became choppy
Creating all kinds of strange images
In my mind’s eye, yet no Nessie
Finally, time for me to move
I would come again tomorrow on my last day
Much the same as yesterday, no Nessie
Time to go home, not too disappointed
That I had not captured this elusive creature
As I had made two very good friends
That I could visit again…
The life of a writer is not what I thought it would be in the beginning.
Maybe years ago it was what I imagined, but in these digital times, it has changed so radically from that idyllic, if rather a romantic notion of what being a writer would be like.
These days, we all wear so many different hats, it’s a wonder we get around to writing anything.
What with the constant struggle to come up with interesting posts; reviewing all the books we read; trying to find new and effective promotional ideas.
Not to mention all the thinking, worrying, emails and planning, there are not enough hours in the day!
So when I read Ari Meghlen’s post on organising your life better, my interest was aroused! In this post, she recommends assigning different days for specific jobs and not deviating from this agenda. This could work, but not sure about using an alarm clock to keep me on track!
I have long attempted to devise a routine that would help me to get more done, but the harder I try, the more complicated and slower I seem to get.
I have always had a problem with rules and restrictions. Or rather, fate seems to, on my behalf. The minute I decide on a certain idea, a timetable or schedule, you can just bet something or someone will come along and wreck it!
I try to be more productive, especially with my writing, and one of the ways I have found that actually works is to try and write 1000 words every day. As I am up long before anyone else in my family, I can usually manage this with ease. So in one area at least, I have it covered!
Ari has some good ideas HERE on her post; does anyone else have anything to suggest that would improve the lives of us desperate to be better organised writers?
The sun was shining one day last week, and an air of springtime was everywhere I looked, so I found myself wandering around the garden, ending up in my potting shed, checking how much potting compost I will need once I start the marathon repotting of my bonsai in the next few weeks.
It was good to be out of doors so I made the most of it, trying not to wince at the extent of the work that desperately needs doing.
Last year I wasn’t a very good gardener, as editing my WIP and getting it ready to launch took up every waking hour, and many jobs were neglected. This year I intend to be on top of things, well, as much as I am able anyway. There are some jobs that might defeat me, but time will tell.
Most of these jobs involve some serious pruning, as my garden resembles a jungle, something that doubtless will become worse once the growing season gets underway.
Cutting the soaking wet, overgrown and matted grass may well kill me once I get to it, but there is no one else. I really would like a low maintenance garden, but dreaming won’t get one, so must cope somehow.
I have also booked a ride to the garden centre to order the wooden slats to replace my bonsai display shelves. I am also determined to repaint the walls in my yard as they are worse than grubby. Everything grows like crazy around here, including the weeds and the mould!
Just being outside in the fresh air was wonderful, filling me up with so many good intentions and the joy of looking forward to doing something creative, and muddy…
©Jaye Marie 2020
One of my characters has been in my head a lot lately, constantly nagging me about something. He has featured in three of my books, and I think anyone who has read my work will remember DI Snow. The detective who helped Kate Devereau in Nine Lives, saved her life in Out of Time, and failed miserably to forget her in CrossFire.
He turned up again in Silent PayBack, happily married and recovered from the serious life-threatening injuries he sustained in CrossFire.
I wondered what was on his mind.
I invited him to my office to find out.
‘You have exactly five minutes to say what is on your mind, David, as I am trying to work.’
He looked wonderful, but then he has always been one of my favourite people. Looking just like Tom Selleck from the Jesse Stone tv series, he sprawled in my writing chair, slowly moving it backwards and forwards, his eyes never leaving my face.
‘I want to know when you will be writing another story for me?’ The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, along with one eyebrow. ‘I have missed seeing you every day, Jaye.’
My insides were melting fast, and right then I would have agreed to anything.
‘There is the small matter of a decent plot…’
He shrugged, as if that was of no consequence.
‘Do you have any idea how hard it is to create a plausible detective story?’
He stood up, towering over me as I sat on the uncomfortable visitor’s chair. ‘You have managed it very well up to now, Jaye. Anyway, I do have an idea, or rather a desire. My marriage is over, mainly because I cannot forget Kate. I want to find her again. You do know where she is?’
I was speechless, which was just as well, for I was desperately trying to imagine what Kate might be doing now. The last time I saw her, she was going to find somewhere to paint herself better. Supposing I couldn’t find her?
There was also the not so small matter of the work I was supposed to be doing. Like Anita’s new poetry book, and the impending release of her new fiction book, Running Moon.
As if he could read my mind, David Snow sat back down in my chair.
‘I know how busy you are, Jaye. You probably have several projects on the go, but I’m hoping writing a new story could be one of them. I’m not leaving until we have an agreement.’
To be continued
My husband of many years
Suddenly announced that we need silk sheets
I managed to stop myself from laughing
And said, we will slip out of bed
His smile, that twinkle in his eyes
I had not seen for many a year
He said he had a different kind of slipping in mind
I thought no more of it until I found
Silk sheets on our bed
My husband has found a renewed sense of youth
The bonus in this, is I didn’t slip out of bed…
Anita told me this morning that Sue’s #writephoto image this week will be a bunch of trees.
She had just finished painting one of her flower frogs in copper, when I showed her the picture. She promptly went to lie down in a dark room as she says she cannot take much more of these universal coincidences. Trees and the word copper?
I wasn’t going to do anything with it, but I had the impulse to put it out there.
This kind of thing happens to her so often, she feels she should be able to do something useful with it.
While sheltering beneath this beautiful pine tree
I heard a deep voice, the down in your boot’s kind
“Why do you hide beneath my skirt?”
I answered, not knowing to whom I might be speaking
“I’m not hiding, I’m being nosy. I like the feel of it here,
as if the world can no longer see me.”
“I understand. My face is not always visible,
depending on the wind. I noticed you looking
yet you ventured beneath, unafraid.
Many here look upon my face and walk away
It must be my size has them walking by,
never knowing my name is Beau
I am left with a feeling of sadness.
You see, I cannot help but let my spirit be seen
That is when I can see the world through different eyes
Rather than just feeling the sunlight, I can see it
Late at night when the people have gone, I see the stars,
the moon playing between the shadows…”
I didn’t want to interrupt the voice coming from above my head
Finally, I managed to say, “Your face doesn’t frighten me,
I think it’s beautiful.”
A sudden wind picked up and I stepped outside
Looking up, I could no longer see the face
that had drawn me in. I believed the spirit of the tree
had shared its thoughts with me
I walked home, feeling privileged…