I finished the first draft of the new book this week. Well, I suppose it’s a second draft, as I did have an original rough draft, scribbled across two small notepads. But now I’ve gone through my hastily scrawled hieroglyphs and rewritten every word.
I was so chuffed that I allowed myself a bottle of alcoholic ginger beer to celebrate.
That might be the most Pooterish sentence I’ve ever written, but it was the first booze I’d had in nearly a month so it meant something.
Anyway, I digress.
It sounds idiotically obvious but the most important thing about writing is you need to actually write.
If I’d waited for circumstance to be right – a nice peaceful room overlooking a meadow and a beautiful oak desk – nothing would have got done.
If I’d waited for a bolt of pure inspiration, nothing would have got done.
If I’d worried about the fact that the sentence I’d just scribbled down wasn’t as good as it could have been, I’d have swiftly grinded to a halt.
The important thing was that I got the ideas onto paper, that I captured the emotion I was aiming for, that I began to shape the characters.
The actual words, the actual sentences will come.
They’re what re-writing is for.
I have an early draft of a novel. One I feel incredibly passionate about, one I’m actually quite proud of.
Now, of course, I have to put that passion to good use and work hard and give myself a final book which makes me truly proud.