you're reading...
Shop talk (anything and everything on writing)

We are not alone

I was taking a rather gloomy look at my bank statement yesterday when a friend rang me up and said that creative writing is terribly therapeutic, even when you don’t get paid for it. Really? What about when you’re half way through a story and nothing is working and your main character is as lively as Scott Tracey on Thunderbird One when all the puppeteers break for lunch?
Writing can be the absolute pits. You can get to a point where your brain is blank, and everything you’ve done seems rubbish and forced, and then you go and have a cup of tea and a chocolate digestive, and you know that you’d rather clean the drains than attempt any more messing about with the English language, thank you very much.
And then I flicked through a book and read this piece by George Gissing from New Grub Street (written in 1891):
There were floating in his mind five or six possible subjects for a book, all dating back to the time when he first began novel writing, when ideas came freshly to him. If he grasped desperately at one of these, and did his best to develop it, for a day or two he could almost content himself […] But scarcely had he done a chapter or two when all the structure fell into flatness.
Oh George, I know how you feel, mate.

About elainecanham

I started blogging because I'm a writer, and I thought I ought to. Now I realise that I blog because I like to; even when I can't think of much to say.


2 thoughts on “We are not alone

  1. I suppose if you are an artist you can maintain that other people don’t understand you or haven’t interpreted you correctly. There’s no room to hide with words,.unless you’re somebody who can facilitate complete unconsciousness among your multi-platform audience simply by downsizing the language of Shakespeare to a list of meaning-shift variables.

    Posted by elainecanham | September 13, 2013, 8:26 am
  2. It’s funny. Even when you get paid for it, writing still has all these psychological pitfalls–identifying too much with the work, the dread that it all sucks, etc. etc. There’s something so unique about it as a practice and as a artform, and as a condition.

    Posted by michaelalexanderchaney | September 11, 2013, 5:21 pm

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s


Follow on Bloglovin

Follow me on Twitter

%d bloggers like this: