Charles Heath's writing blog

As the title, it is usually said that a week is a long time in politics. And has it what.  I think a lot of people have discovered the power of their one vote! But we're not here to discuss politics, that's boring stuff, we're here to revel in the fact seven days have passed, and I'm still on track. I know, I know, don't start blowing your trumpet too soon, a lot can still go to hell in a handbasket from here, but at the moment I'm being optimistic. I've written the chapter that was missing, and this, of course, had opened up another hole where I'll need to add another chapter, but that's under control. For now. But, the big news... I've decided to break the book into three parts, The reluctant friend A friend in need A friend avenged These might change, but so far, so good.

You see, this commitment to writing so many words a day becomes a little like a pressure cooker. Having a plan is one thing, writing to it is another, but to keep going, now, there's the thing. Like this morning, sitting in front of the computer, knowing only five minutes before sitting down what I wanted to write about.  A new twist in the tale. Then the phone rings. Up from the table, over to the phone, answer it. A nuisance call, someone saying I had an accident when I didn't, a new group of scammers trying to leverage money out of you.  On top of the telecommunication scammers, and the endless charities looking for donations. Distractions. I sit down again, but my mind has switched off. The words are gone. Breakfast is looking good.

The process of writing is rewriting editing and more rewriting. The other day l wrote some words.  I didn't like them.  But it had laid the groundwork for a second draft. Here it is: Growing up I did not believe l had one of those lovable faces. My brother, known in school as the best looking boy of his graduating class, said it was a face only a mother could love. He was mean. Simone, a girl who was a friend, not a girlfriend, said my face had character. She was charming and polite. Looking now, in the mirror, l decided I'd aged gracefully. I could truthfully say my brother had not, but that was as far as the comparison went. My overachieving brother was the epitome of success in business, a veritable god zillionaire.   Everything he touched turned to gold. My ultra successful sister, Penelope, had married into the right family perhaps by chance, but she was also a very learned scholar whose life was divided between her chair and the uni...

Which by the way, is the most important thing to be doing. Today, day 5, the count is 1,862 words, making a total of 8,943 words so far. What I have to be careful about is not to let the pressure get to me, I mean, I have to write about 1,700 words a day to maintain target. If I miss a day, or the creative juices stop flowing... OK, not something we need to think about. Just a minor issue, though, I left a section out, to be written, because I was not sure what I wanted to write.  Perhaps what is coming may give some insight. In the meantime, yet another yellow post-it note. I'm thinking of getting a new color, perhaps a more soothing color like pale green.

Those pesky characters seem to be always getting in the way. And no matter how much you think you have that character down, they always find a new way to surprise you. Of course, these people are mostly an amalgam of characteristics that you've observed over a long period of time. I used to sit at the railway station at busy times to observe people and filled a dozen notebooks with both characteristics and eccentricities. A little backpedaling is required.  I know there isn't time for revisions, but there are 'glaring' mistakes, even for a first draft which is not meant to be perfect. As they say, moving on...

I still can't get the start of this story out of my head. The story is there waiting to be written, I know where it's coming from, I know where I want it to go, but the words are not working. I read it once, yuk, I read it twice, it's begging me to press the delete button.  Now! This is how it looks: My life was going nowhere.  If I took a step back and took a good, long, hard look at it, what could I say was the one defining moment? There was no defining moment. I’d bounced around schools till the day I decided I was not cut out to learn anything more, or perhaps the teachers had given up trying to impart knowledge.  Whatever the reason, I dropped out of college and drifted.  Seasonal laborer, farm hand, factory worker, night watchman. At least now I had a uniform and looked like I’d made something of myself. Until I went home. My parents were distinctly disappointed I was not married with children. My overachieving brother always said I was a l...

So, finally, the plan is working. The story is progressing and I can see, for the moment, that the story is heading in the right direction. Of course, in saying that, it might just jinx the project. There was a small moment of hesitation though, one of those, perhaps this might be a better way moment that caused a brief stoppage while I considered the consequences. Then I just added another sticky note to the four hundred others lining the monitor and nearby shelves and went back to work. Got to get those 1,667 words written.