12,000 words from virgin novelist

Yes I wrote 12,000 words today. Well almost, somewhere between 11,500 and 12,000. Won’t mean much to anyone other than writers. But lets just say it’s a lot, almost sick.

I started at 4am and tapped away till just before 1pm with a few wee and tea breaks and a bowl of cereal and yoghurt thrown in somewhere.

I’m not telling you this to skite, well maybe just a little, but to explain why this is such a short blog and focused on my writing exploits.

I am all written up, written out, done, kaput.

I have no words left in me for blogging. I’ve got a couple of blogs half started about some events out here. I wanted to tell you about Herman the German and the Nobel prize but I am just spent.

I’m a virgin novelist.

I was trying to save myself for NaNoWriMo, (National Novel Writing Month) starting in November but this novel was coming hard and fast and I couldn’t stop it. I had to give myself to it, surrender to the thrust and grunt of it all.

The novel is about a writer, female, who goes out to the desert to housesit and do some writing!

For one dreadful day of writing, about six thousand words, I thought it was going to be a romance. It’s scary what the imagination turns up.

But Alleluia, a body has just been dug up, or some human remains. So now it’s looking more like a mystery murder, (no not a murder mystery) which I know nothing about except Agatha Christie. Anything else I find too violent. I don’t know where this brutality has come from, whether it’s something deep down in my soul or something in the air out here.

So here I am wandering around Lightening Ridge pretending to be normal but really I am living in a fantasy, a bit like a five year old I guess, and muttering to myself, trying to work out what to do next. Oh yes it does sound like someone with dementia I suppose. Well I might throw that in the novel mixture too.

I’ve written almost 35,000 words in 5 days. Yes a bit of a marathon. I feel like I am freefalling and just surrendering to it, keeping my head down with no idea where I’m going.

I am the servant of my imagination, I just write down what comes next and I’m constantly surprised by what shows up. Where does this stuff come from?

These characters sure are giving me the run around. Elly, the protagonist-writer seems to be running away from something at least that’s what Tom thinks. He’s the handsome young farmer from the adjoining property (you can see why I thought it was going to be a romance). But now he’s disappeared. Right when this body has shown up. Well not a body just a bone. Elly thinks they should go to the police but Tom is dead against it. Is he hiding something? No, surely sweet faced Tom couldn’t be a murderer! (yes more exclamations marks, I think its all the fiction writing, it makes me what to exclaim a lot).

And then there’s Ted, Tom’s sleazy father. Something sinister about him. And who shot the dog? Someone just threw a rock through Elly’s windscreen while she was visiting Harry who lost a foot. And Susie, the trophy wife has just asked Elly to the B&S. Elly doesn’t know whether to go or not but she sure feels like getting shitfaced after the week she’s had.

Oh my god, who are all these people who have taken over my psyche. I feel like I’m an intruder on a Seinfeld on ice set.

I don’t have any headspace to think or write about anything else.

I just wanted to share a bit of this wild ride, especially for those who are writers. It’s like having a wild and passionate love affair.

My big question is whether or not Elly is going to the B&S. I’m going to sleep on it. I think she might be going.

I know Elly is not me, yes I really do. But when I was out walking today I had this intense urge to run. Elly goes running most days. So I thought I might take up running again. Haven’t been running since I was training for a marathon, well half marathon, when I was living in Townsville in my early thirties. Could be ugly, well wobbly might be a more accurate word. And I’m devoted to accurate words at the moment.

Once I’ve worked out what to do with the body and why Tom doesn’t want Elly to go to police I should be right for blogging, hopefully some time next week.

Of course it is only the first draft so this is the easy part. Who knows if it will ever become more than a brief affair, at the moment it is all lust and thrust, and sweet, such sweet surrender.

Leave a Reply