My first book, The River, is a sci-fi epic which may never see the light of day. It’s good, it’s got great concepts and stretches reader’s imaginations but it’s also the novel where I learnt to write. Refusing to ‘practice’, ‘plan’ or ‘prepare’ I just knuckled down and wrote and wrote and wrote. It took three years to finish and even then I had to outsource the illustrating (which I’d rather have done) just to get it done in time for Christmas.
Fifty-Two, my next novel, is different. I’ve learnt, I’ve worked hard, I’ve struggled through sleepless nights until now I’m at a point where I feel I have the skill to truly pen my concepts in a way which is understandable and interesting. But, as ever, I’m struggling. Despite being good my mind now pushes me to attempt ‘greatness’ and the format, structure and story of Fifty-Two is more complicated than the time-travel-but-not-time-travel story of The River. I’m one chapter in, fifty-one to go. Wish me luck.
For me, writing is liberating.
Stumbled across this site? What liberates you?
