Not so long ago you started to write an account of your grief (your dog passed away), and it turned into something that resembled the beginning of a memoir. Completely unintentional. But the point is, whilst writing it you referred to yourself as You, not I. And you found this to be an extremely effective way to write.
So that’s what you are going to attempt here. You haven’t updated your blog in a while, and felt the need to write something. By posting, say, once a week you think it will help flex those cerebral writing muscles of yours.
It will give you a break from your pursuits; well, The Pursuit, not plural. You are writing a book for a movie director, and have a nine-month deadline (approximately).
Soon after accepting the task three things occurred to you:
- You have never worked to a deadline before
- You have never planned a story before (all 5 of your books were written by the light of the previous sentence)
- You know absolutely nothing about story structure
In a short period of time you have seen the effectiveness of a deadline, the importance of planning (thanks to K.M. Weiland’s amazing books on the subject), and how structure can make or break a story.
You are working on the project every day, and feel it’s slowly coming together – it has to(!)
You are halfway through reading Ursula Le Guin’s A Wizard of Earthsea. It’s number 82 of the books you have read in 2017 (your goal was to read 70). The next book on your list is Wild, by Jay Griffiths, of which you have already read 11% of, on your friend’s Kindle (that he kindly lent you while he went to Bali for a month on a Shamanic retreat).
If you could read all day, you would.
Last week you and your wife went to the cinema to see Loving Vincent, and you can’t wait to watch it again. What a great job they did!
Your wife left for work about an hour ago; “Lunch’s in the fridge, remember”, and so now it’s just you and your creative demons.
You was going to go to a cafe to write, but think you’ll stay at home – although if the lonely dog upstairs doesn’t stop whining you might have to get out. Libraries in Taiwan are closed on Mondays so you look forward to tomorrow when you can sit in peace and quiet, surrounded by an infinity of Mandarin books you don’t understand.
Out the window the sky is more white than grey, and the air is mighty damp. You have spent the whole morning sneezing due to Taipei’s air quality, hence the surgical mask you are wearing, making you look like you are about to operate on your Mac.
At the end of this sentence you will walk to the kitchen, make a flask of hot brown sugar and ginger tea (or maybe coffee…), and then knuckle down to business.