I am enjoying my helicar, somehow the mute but discursive Jaguar emblem and I have reached an understanding. This may well be my world, I did create it, but it is not mine to own. I think of the stately prone Jaguar as part of my tuition, she is my guide to what I have created so far and she is wiser than me. Hers may not be the power of the spoken word or indeed the written word – hers is the power of revelation.
Our trips are now interspersed with periods on the ground, most often in the forests and parks that have already been created but sometimes we settle on the hard shoulder of the Publishers Pathway itself. When we land it is understood it is for me to do what I was born to do … write.
We started in a dense forest filled with exotic bird song and crazy coloured plants where I found the dusty files of short stories. Over the weeks I have visited this magic forest and in here amongst the birdsong I have honed new skills. The wash, cut and blow dry has been a favourite but of late I have gained a reputation as a colourist.
I have opened up the old short story folders and pulled out the individual tales and treated them first to quick read through and comment (the wash), then a serious edit removing so many of my darlings (the cut) this done with scissors that look like they belong to Edward Scissorhands and finally a read out loud to my ever-present and always objective audience Muttley (the blow dry).
Some tales have been filed away for future use and others have returned for a final tint of colour, this involves a re-check of the characterisation and the addition of anything from a few lines of dialogue to touch up the roots through to a complete make-over and re-colour where the character was perhaps too bland or too personal. After a session with the colourist the stories have been despatched to either competitions or magazines.
The stops on the hard shoulder have been for me to write new tales and these stops have been tough.
The first time my helicar deposited me forcefully and bumpily onto the said hard shoulder I refused to get out. I sat with the roof down and watched the carousel of cars and vehicles each making their individual progress along the Publishers Pathway. I could not help but reflect on my co-writers diversity and this has led me to reflect on my own place within the spectrum of the Writers World.
After what seemed like an age we came to an unspoken agreement and left the hard shoulder with my head full of doubts and concerns as to my place in my own world. My helicar soared to the skies at three times the usual speed and the angst and frustration of my Jaguar tutor was evident.
I knew the next trip would see me back on the hard shoulder and this time I must complete the task set and so, for the first time, I acknowledged that age-old mantra of the writers’ advisor – WRITE WHAT YOU KNOW.
I am coming to terms with this.
If it is OK to write what you know then the deepest darkest most violent of your emotions can provide the backdrop for your writing. So I arrived in the hard shoulder with my task in hand. The Writing Magazine’s Love Story competition.
If I was to write what I know then a love story would be easy for I have lived the greatest love story ever.
Lacking confidence in my highly emotional and perhaps too deep and dark story I sent it to my Writers Bureau tutor for comment and was surprised at her encouragement to submit the piece. It will probably not achieve a mention but it has broken a spell for me.
It did appease my helicar and I think I am fast approaching the day when I may find peace within my Writers World and may even stop being a spectator and get back on the Publishers Pathway for real.
In the meantime my friends, stay with me and continue to like follow and comment, it means everything to me.