Iona Winter

Another calendar year has passed. And a new one has begun. Where will this year lead, or should I be leading it?

‘The Novel’ has morphed into a concise, punchy short story. I sent it off the other day to several literary journals (both here in NZ and overseas). I felt sadness and relief at the same time.

It was surreal to think I’d worked (and worked and worked) on something which became about 75,000 words—and ended up being condensed into 3,500. That’s like 0.5%!

If I am honest, it wasn’t the whole novel squished into a short story, but it was some of the best bits.

I had a wee process afterwards. Well I’m sure most people in my position would. Either that or they’d take the damn thing outside and burn it symbolically over a fire.

The desk with all the associated ‘The Novel’ pieces of paper, scribblings, edits and related paraphernalia has been tidied into a pile. The pile has now gone to rest beneath the desk in a box. Who knows if and when I’ll return to it?

I’m ready for other projects. Or am I?

There’s one helluva blank page I’m staring at today (other than writing this blog post, which is easy because it has very little to do with fictional output).

Inwardly, I am cringing. Have I written my arse off for YEARS to only have a short story to show for it? Is that the best I can do? Maybe I am too much of a perfectionist? Worried about other people’s judgements and so on…sound familiar? You bet.

One thing I have realised on this journey of wordsmithing is that I’m actually better at short things, rather than long rambling wanders through time and place. Not reflective of my life at all!

The answers to my plethora of internal questions seem nebulous at best. Dear readers, I will endeavour to continue on resolutely (I know adverbs are frowned upon in writing submissions, but I reckon I can get away with some here!).

Maybe I should do a PhD instead and write about myself. That’d be a laugh!