Thursday, 2 June 2016

A First Draft

I have just kept a promise to myself and completed the first draft of a novel by the end of May 2016. It feels good. It feels good to keep faith with myself, and it feels good to give birth to something however imperfect...

Even though this is a work of fiction, some of the storyline has been drawn from my own life with facts altered, names changed, experiences expanded upon so that the novel feels in part like an alternate life, a shadow of me that exists on the page and also in some finer invisible realm occasioned by the threading together of words. What happens with each iteration of self? What is ended and allowed to die? What is written into existence?

As I write this, a grey squirrel darts back and forth across a wooden deck. I am watching through a set of glass doors. He seems to symbolise the entrance and exit of a character...the entrance and exit of a life. I suspect he is a comedian.