You may recall a few months ago that I wrote a post on here singing the praises of The Woman In Black by Susan Hill - first the play and then the book. It brought to mind a supernatural story I have been wrestling with for decades, attempting numerous times to write or at least develop. It is not your usual kind of supernatural story. It is set in a new town house in the mid-60s rather than some dark and dingy manor house or abandoned ruin and it sprang from an image that came to my mind out of nowhere many moons ago of a huge protrait of a baby drawn on a wall. Now I don't know if at some point I actually saw this portrait or if it just came from nowhere, but there was this baby, aged about eleven months, dressed in nothing but an old fashioned nappy (or daiper if you prefer), drawn on the wall so that it looked like it was looking directly at you. That was it. No history. No explanation. But for years that image stayed with me. And every time I tried to write the story behind that image, I'd get so far then give up, no matter whose point of view I was writing from. It never felt quite right.
Then, a couple of weeks ago, I suddenly saw a new way to try it and guess what? I have just completed chapter two! That is the furthest I have ever got with it, so I am beginning to think that - at last - I may have found the correct formula to take this story all the way. Not only is it good to be properly writing again, it is great to finally be writing something I can barely wait to get back to. The last time that happened was when I wrote My Writer, the first draft of which was written in six weeks in something of a fever! I have been writing the new book - which, curiously is not a children's book - for about a week and so far, so good. It has pace and some quirks and, already, an unexpected twist or two so if I can keep this up, who knows where it will lead.
After treading water in the proverbial sea of procrastination for so long, it has surprised me just how important to me my writing still is. Losing my mun, moving house, settling down, Steve retiring, moving house again, getting things straight; all this has had a detrimental affect on my writing, with only the odd article, blog post or poem finding its way through the murk. It is surprising how much better I feel now that I am back in my proper world, the world of the written word. Suddenly, I feel completely whole again. Wish me luck. I will let you know how I get on.
