she smiled feeling the skin of her finger caress the palm of her waiting hand. Beyond the walls a man from Belfast sang a tune about a dance. The silver from the New York moon shone through the slit in the curtains tracing a line between their prone bodies splitting the bed in two equal parts, a jigsaw waiting to be pieced together in mutual desire. Somewhere a child with over eager lungs screamed for a mammy who was too drunk to care, a cat shimmied through an alley in the display of metal rubbish bins beneath the window, where their eyes sought the unquestioned answers of a lifetime of timid downcast smiles and whispered hellos.
The world of reality is left behind as the eyes drink the clearing fog of the place inside where dreams become words and fiction becomes your truth
this writing malarkey is fascinating. Doing it nearly a year and a half now and every day I learn new stuff.
The interesting for me the last few weeks is what happens when you add an extra dimension to a character and then rewrite what you had written previously.
It’s like a new world opens up, a more interesting one for the character to explore or in this case cause havoc.
I’m excited what this let sing curve will throw my way next.
There I was with the words on the page. The first attempts at a novel and the sentences were piled up and I had listened to the wisdom of writers and was trying to use it. Then one night you think that the boy who is the story needs to live in the shadows with a mind like my own but willing to follow his thoughts. And the story changes easily and although Im still only at the start of writing it I am really enjoying the whole experience. If no one else ever reads it then it doesn’t matter because I will have enjoyed reading it myself and along the way my mind has developed.
I think anyone who has any inclination should try it. I’m far from a good writer but that doesn’t matter it’s the experience that gives the therapy and healing not the finished product. And more importantly the fun.