Writing is Hard and other Duh Observations...

I noticed something a while ago about all my writer friends. Practically all of them painted too. And the few who claimed no visual artistic ability had an obvious talent with the aesthetic. Their homes are beautiful, their dress sense impeccable. That sort of thing.

Perhaps it's a coincidence?

We writers hate coincidences.

We visual artists are less bothered.

Maybe it's just the writers I hang out with. 

But, when I spotted this interview with Sara Baume a few months ago I was delighted. Before her sudden rise to literary fame, she had studied Fine Art in IADT. A girl after my own heart and another for my writer/painter list.

I eagerly clicked through to read all about her writing/artistic life.

What struck me in the end was something else, related but different, that she said... I'll quote her..."After the second book, I’d really like to get a studio again and make art again. I actually hate writing; it’s really hard."

"I actually hate writing; it's really hard."

This just resounded with me.

Because I feel that way too. Though hate is probably too strong a word. Where my painting/drawing is a restorative process, I become relaxed and consumed by it. Writing on the other hand is more like a difficult pregnancy. It is long, and exhausting. It drains me of nutrients and energy and it's labour is excruciating.

But you know, I have four children. And the love I feel for them is immeasurable. I willingly, with open eyes, endured those horrid nine months repeatedly.

And that is also how I feel about my literary offspring. Washed and new and swaddled, I look at my newly created sentences and paragraphs and am delighted. I can barely believe I had a hand in their creation. It has been so worth it. And though I may mutter, 'never again', I know I will.

Perhaps this is why so many of my writer friends are artists too? We need that flip side to recharge while still creating. I know, now, as my words daily divide and increase, growing into a potential new book, that the long hard road begins again.

And it doesn't yet fill me with joy.

But like all the other times, I'll do it anyway.

Updates and Things

February is when I last posted.

I said I'd check in and tell you how the Novel Fair went. Didn't I?

Well, yes, dear reader, I appeared to have lied to you. If it makes you feel any better, I am ashamed. But I have reasons, lots of lovely, plausible, understandable reasons...

We'll get to them, in good time.

So, how did the Novel Fair go? Hmm. Two answers - the actual day itself was one of  the most memorable, intense, overwhelming, brilliant days of my life. This brilliant little video from the Irish Writers Centre give you a pretty good idea of how it all went. I'm the one talking with my hands a lot.


Second answer - have I gotten a giant twenty figure book deal yet? No, not quite. The wheels turn slowly in this business. But I haven't not got a twenty figure book deal either :) There is possible potential for interesting things to happen... and I will keep you posted if anything develops from this possible potential ...

And now, why have I been so quiet. One word really. College. Quite annoyingly the slacker student I was in my youth is long gone. Maybe she's still propping up the student bar, carousing till the early hours. In her place, a single-minded phoenix, has emerged. Hardworking and driven. I prefer the former. She was much more fun. This student version of myself, determined to be the best in the class. Willing to work into the wee hours. Every. Single. Night. She's annoying. And hard work. I don't really like her that much. She's making me very tired! And why? What has she to prove?!!

But, we're done now. Finito. And its time to put my writerly the back one. The little doohicky at the top left of this blog that tracks my word count. The one that showed me finished with The Dead Ringer? Well, I'm setting it to zero. And a new one begins. Am I completely mad? Probably. I'll keep you up to date.