Confessions

You know, when I started this blog and thought I'd write about writing and books, I didn't think I'd keep the theme up for long. But I can't stop thinking about other things I want to blog about. It's a little like when I create a story, I'll have one thread and think 'well, I can't make a story out of that' and then I'll think of the characters they'll need, for good or bad, in their lives and then I'll have too much to include. At least with a blog I can make thought transitions throughout blogs, or just create a new post whenever I wish to digress (which you may have noticed I do. At length).

So that's my first confession, that I was worried for a block that has yet to happen. The second is, that I haven't written for a while. This happened with uprooted, and is now happening with budding (working titles, dear lord they're working titles!) - I get so close to the end and even though it's the more exciting bit, I want to write the aftermath (or, the next one) so I haven't even thought about chapter 16 until this week. Honestly. I've got a little more of 15 to do, and most of 17, but maybe it's the anticipation of starting the next one is too great, or the worry that I won't be good enough to write what I want to at the pivotal moment. I will write it, and soon, but I think I need to daydream for a little while longer first.

This leads, and is part, of my third confession. When I write, I sometimes act out scenes (obviously, in private, in silence) so I can work out the flow of conversation, how to describe the characters reactions ... I feel a little like I have multiple personality disorder, but it works for me. I like being in a certain place at work, because when it's quiet, I do create scenes in my head, and have been for a good few years now (this probably isn't something I should confess, since I know one of my managers reads this, lol). I mean, I still do all the work I'm meant to, but it's not exactly strenuous mentally so I can do the physical work as I daydream.

The last confession, however, isn't mine. We were talking at work today, about books (since I finally finished Wuthering Heights on my break and couldn't wait for this moment to blab that fact) and one of my coworkers, we'll call him 'Lucas' ... confessed he'd never finished a book. I mean, I'm sure he had to when he was younger, but he's never willingly read and finished a book. Lizzy and I were a little shocked, because I'm sure we'd both live in a bookshop if that was an option (or, the library in Beauty And The Beast. When I saw that scene in that film, I got so jealous of Belle). I know some people don't read for leisure, but I just can't leave a book unfinished. Well, I didn't finish 'Great Expectations' for English, but Charles Dickens writing is so droll (and I was born on his birthday, I was so excited we were reading him until they thrust that book at us. Surely there's better Dickens books?) that it almost didn't matter. And we watched a video so I got to the conclusion anyway. But anyway, if I've picked it up, it doesn't matter how long it takes me, how many other books I read between chapters (because even at this moment, I'm technically in the middle of about 5 books, The Post-Birthday World, On The Road, How To Talk To A Widower, Dracula and Percy Jackson And The Lightning Thief... I think that's right. I can't tell you the last time I read any of those, however) I will finish. I see long, difficult, or actionless books as a challenge to overcome. Two other women at work said that although they don't read often, when they do, they get really stuck in. But they're both mothers to children older than my son, so they're forgiven - my parents spend years reading the same book, but they persevere until the end too. Maybe that's where I get it from?