A writing holiday to be more specific. I haven’t written any fiction for over a year. That’s the last time that inspiration hit me so hard I had to ignore the world to get the story out. Unfortunately, that burst of creativity lasted for only a few chapters and right when I reached the point where I would need to put some sweat into it, I looked up and Wham! The real world took me back. I hate when that happens.
It’s okay to say, set aside some time each day in a set space (or any space) and dedicate it to writing. I’ve tried. It doesn’t work that way for me. I need a few hours to work my way back into the story, to research and learn about my characters, to figure out how they will react in different situations and which of those situations are plausible, cliche or just plain laughable (or should I say, groanable?).
I also need quiet. No people wandering past, stopping for a chat or calling out (as they hook the refrigerator door open and stare in all forlorn), “mum, I’m hungry!”. No TV either, not even music; mine or anyone else’s in the background. No phone calls – someone always rings at pivotal moments. It drives me crazy.
If I could get away for a few days and get away from work, family, home, and study, I’m sure that I would be able to move past chapter 3 in my new work-in-progress, perhaps even progress on the WIP I started a year before that. Then the new story hovering in the background of my currently stunted creative brain could grow the way it’s patiently waiting to grow.
It’s a great little idea based on the coming together of… well, I’ll keep the rest of it to myself for now. I have to finish this post, organise lunches for tomorrow, attend to the leaning pile of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, and raid the obviously well-hidden stash of food in the back of the refrigerator.