Sunday, 8 April 2018

Keeping on Track


My ill-disciplined approach to writing has a habit of occurring in fits and starts. Staring at the blank page or empty screen, willing myself to action, often ends up something akin to pulling teeth. You can’t force yourself to be inspired, or inspiring for that matter. Much of what I do tends to feel like labouring up winding mountain roads, hoping the next bend will reveal some friendlier terrain, walking in last place with my bike because I’ve run out of puff, while all the elite cyclists disappeared into the distance long ago and are receiving the accolades at the finish line.

Once in a while though it’d be rather nice to not have to pedal so hard. Aah…to feel the wind in my hair while coasting down the mountain for a change, now that would be good, picking up speed, relishing the freedom, steering around the hairpin bends with skill and bravado. What a lot of rot. I’ve watched enough Tours de France to know you have to go through the agony of the uphill before you can be rewarded with the downhill run to the finish.

And there’s my problem, my lack of discipline brings me undone every time. My doubt that I have the wherewithal to make it to the end means I don’t make the effort to start. I have years’ worth of half-finished, barely started and nowhere near half-finished stories coming out of my ears. I can write a great opening line, a good first paragraph, several chapters, setting the scene time and again to draw the reader in. But most of the time there it stops; I simply can’t sustain it.

All us wannabe writers would love the writing process to just happen, so it’s heartening to hear that even some of the most accomplished authors approach each new project with fear and trembling. Most of it is simply turning up and doing the work, it’s not magic. Garrison Keilor says it succinctly in his novel Love MeEvery writer I know is on a winding mountain road in the fog.
                                                     
So the question remains, will I ever make it out of the fog. I‘ve made two large artist journals in recent years which I pull out now and again, especially when I get to that give up line and am on the verge of dragging every poor attempt out of the filing cabinet and tossing it in the bin. They are a collection of pictures, phrases and words cut out of magazines, all strung together with my own narrative. An attempt to think in depth about the whole creative process, and how to personalise it, they ended up turning into something of a message to myself, encouraging me to keep going, even when it all seems like an uphill battle.

Hence this diary, a pro-active step, fronting up to the keyboard every day, sticking to the commitment made on New Year’s Day to put something of my world into words. It might sound somewhat clinical, but bringing poetry into my daily regimen lightens the task and has a way of keeping my mind active, and my eyes, ears and heart open to what might appear unexpectedly during the day. The rhythms of nature and reflections of private contemplation hold a wealth of material to direct anyone’s thoughts into corresponding word rhythms.



No false starts
every step forward
leads somewhere






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