I am an explorer of worlds both internal and external, it is my natural inclination. I am also a writer. Sitting at home on a dull afternoon with three novels that are expressions of themes I have wanted to explore, now sitting like little crones, smiling and fully formed on the bookshelf in my mind, I wonder what’s next.
It’s been a while since I’ve been able to settle down to a new project. I have started to worm my way into two possible stories. One set in 2040. The other, an exploration of my teenage fears. Projections both forward and back, but the thing is, neither of those beginnings has called me to their computer page day after day, insisting I get the next, and the next, and the next page written down. It almost feels as if the ideas behind them are too immature, not rich with a subtext neatly sewn into their lining.
This realisation has prompted me to reflect upon my previous full-length creative works, and what it was about them that seduced me to carry on with their narrative until, for me, they had reached their logical conclusion.
My first was an autobiographical text. A trip down memory lane. A project that paved the way to a future of fiction writing. Kicking up Mud was to change the dynamics between myself and my eldest son. Through capturing reflections of my life on a page I had a realisation that changed how I think about love and relationships, so often stifled by ego and fear.
Tomorrow I will post a short semi-autobiographical piece that explains the epiphany inspired by writing Kicking up Mud.