I spent the weekend finishing a story draft. Mostly, it should be said, to prove to myself that I still had the ability to write a story, ’cause the last few months have battered my process to the point where it’s unrecognisable. So my goal, in writing the story, was largely getting something written. It’s short, it’s probably quite half-baked, but it’s been months since I wrote something and reached a point where I type THE END.
By the time you read this, I will be redrafting. Figuring out what the story is really about, so I can take out the bits that no longer fit and adding in bits that do. Poking every sentence to make sure it’s doing what it’s meant to be doing. Trying to clean up the obvious mistakes.
Eking out a little space to be a writer, amid the chaos of work and dodgy brain-chemistry and day-to-day life.
