Iona Winter

It’s in. The first draft of “The Novel”. Ka pai, good work, awesome, whoop whoop…hmmm.

I’ve decided to take a week (or so) off writing. This is why you haven’t heard from me. Apologies. But it’s been an interesting time, because life has continued on (as it does). A BIG thing I’ve realised, is how much of my daily life has been spent thinking about my writing. Since hand-in I’ve felt some relief, and this feels somewhat uncomfortable to acknowledge.

I’m sorry dear readers, but it got to the point where I couldn’t handle looking at “The Novel” anymore. I’ve likened this to a relationship where you’ve asked for space and not got it. “Look it’s not you, it’s me. I just need a bit of space.”  You end up resentful and an unpleasant feeling lingers between you both.

Space aside, another thing I’ve noticed is that plot driven writers seem to have very clear trajectories. They seem so sure of themselves. I envy them. I confess to having (slightly) waspish thoughts, hoping their well-ordered plots take unexpected turns and they’re stranded (metaphorically) in the desert. That way we’d be in the same boat (so to speak).

Bitchiness aside, after handing in the “first draft” I’m left feeling an odd kind of grief. It’s like my partner has left me to go on a long trip, with an open air ticket. Bittersweet might be the best word to use. I’ll get my space, but I’ll miss them. Bitter and sweet, deserts and boats, ah dear readers you may think me clever in my use of oxymorons. Nope, I’m just conflicted.

What am I doing with my space? NOTHING. Gone are the urges to bake biscuits, clean out the cupboards and randomly explore the internet. I could’ve had a holiday somewhere. I JEST. I’m now very aware of how much is given up up, in order to write. Income, contact with other humans, slimmer waistlines, et cetera.

I didn’t realise this before I started. Why didn’t someone tell me? Maybe they did, but I probably wouldn’t have listened anyway. Stubborn as an old goat? Yep. Having a break from writing is nothing like I thought it would be. There’s no great cause for celebration, because this is just the ‘first draft’ and not the FINAL one.

Somewhat of an anti-climax, but also a relief. HOPEFULLY my next post will be more upbeat and entertaining. I sound a little depressed don’t I? And probably the only cure is to keep writing…