I go jogging quite a bit and here is a question for those annoying black flies that end up in your eye, semi-blinding you for half an hour whilst you try to get it out.
It’s called:
Questions For The Smallest Aviators.
If a fly
Has the whole sky
To fly
And so many eyes
To navigate by
Why
Fly
Into my eye
To die?
What kind of head fuck is editing?
Nothing makes me question why I write more.
It’s like the death at the end of the soliloquy,
The silent note at the end of the score.
It’s the nagging voice that says, ‘I am unfinished.’
The stain on the blushing bride’s train.
It is something in which Hope is diminished.
Self belief comes under great strain.
It’s the questioning of questions and questions.
The cutting of the granite and clay.
The forced turning of creativity’s windmill,
On a breezeless day.
It is divorced from glee and celebration.
It is a hike through a wordy morass.
It’s like running for the fun train at the station,
Then watching it sail past.
Editing is the extra shift on all Fridays
That furrows the lines in the frown.
It’s the purgatory at the end of all my days.
But at least I’ve written it down.
He said ‘To be fair…’ before everything (yet had brown hair?)
He and his colleagues were all manicured, swathed in the same homogenised pungent bodyspray.
They called each other gents (even the women.)
They swing their arms like orang-utans when they walk and this is what they said…
‘Can we have an impact response to that?’
‘Who’s core responsibility is driving that?’
‘What’s the KPI on the PPE?’
‘I may be going back twenty years, but can’t we just email them?’
‘It was two point two five, then it was two point thirdy then it was two point three five.’
‘Look. Listen.’
It was very important for this particular ‘gent’ to have all of his ducks in a row. Why did he have ducks? Why did he want them lined up? Is this hard for ducks because of the waddle factor?
To be fair, I am really not that bothered. I wonder if he talks like that at the weekend?
Rant over – going to get on with enjoying this glorious weekend.
Education is the losing of opinions. Not the gaining of them.
I know, I know… when it comes to advice for writers I have a distinct take it or leave it kind of attitude. For such a broad , all encompassing field, there is rarely any advice that suits everyone. One size, or font, does not fit all.
That said though, something occurred to me when reading someones’ blog yesterday http://chaptertk.wordpress.com/ She was brave and talented enough to share something she had written in her early teens. I noticed that within it were a multitude of questions.
Not facts, certainties, assumptions and definites. Questions. A need to question, to find out, to investigate, to subvert, to understand. To pull at the loose threads at the corners of the world and see what unravels.
And does this not became harder as we become older or more experienced? To keep an open mind, to ask the basic questions of how things work and why they are the way they are?
And to change them?
Is it not a writers job to ask questions? To make sense of things or to make nonsense of things? Doesn’t all fiction begin with a question –
What if…?
So comment if you have the time, I would really appreciate it. And I am very interested to know your thoughts.
What questions do you ask before starting a story / novel?
What questions do you ask during the writing process? (Apart from why the hell do I do this to myself?)
What do you ask during your edit?
And when finished?
Please share this blog with anyone you know who writes – I am keen to hear as many ideas as I can on this.
Thanks for dropping in. Good to see ya.
The only thing worse than unfinished business is an unfinished sentence.
The only thing worse than an unfinished sentence is…
A Death Worth Living 