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Of Bird-Brained Burblings June 23, 2009

Posted by Jen in : Bits and Pieces, Novel , 25 comments

I woke up at 5am this morning.  Through the outside sounds of crowing cockerels and bickering chickens, a thought came to me.  I must confess my sins.  Well, actually, there’s only one.  I have not *gulps and looks around shiftily* written any words since I moved.  Not one.  But there is a reason for this.  A reason that has pervaded my very being.  I… um.. fell in love.  Only a little bit.  But it distracted me.  The recipient of this had been around for a while, waiting, it would seem, for the right time to sneak into my life and change me.  *Sigh*… It wasn’t even a bloke.  It was Rose Tremain’s The Road Home.  It was such so stylish, so irresistible.  As I read, I turned down the bottom of pages I wanted to come back to, seeking out delicious phrases and caressing them as you would a lover’s cheek.  And then I realised. 

I want to move people, make them cry.  And I’m not going to do that by prattling on about hippies, bongos and Paul McKenna.  Sorry Paul.  You can hunt me down and get me with your googly eyes and velvet voice if you like.  But I can take the concept of my idea.  It just needs a different vibe, voice, whatever.  I have fallen out of love with Novel 2.  And, to be honest, I’ve fallen out of love with the idea of writing another novel. 

My writerly bits are ready for change.  I need to fill my creative well.  To let my pens potter and find a new direction.  Create snippets and scribblings.  Let these technicolour seeds germinate and see where the rainbows form.  The novel-writing will be back.  It’ll just be wearing a grubby mac and dark shades rather than a Jordan-esque bikini under a transparent top. 

I didn’t think my teeny tiny cottage would change me.  Not really.  But I am changing.  And as we change, our axis changes and the world whizzes about at a different angle.  Oh dear, I’m talking tosh.  I blame the chickens.  But there’s something bubbling away, something thrilling and undefined.  Festering, perhaps.  Who can say?

Crumbs.  Don’t I sound grown-up?

re-invention

 

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