A Writer Emerges
Posted on August 4, 2015
I am standing in my kitchen by the rangehood, fan going. Lady is fast asleep, strapped on my chest in the ergo, her customary napping place. This is where most of my blog writing takes place. The washing machine in the laundry next door is in full spin mode, and two vases on a shelf above me jangle almost imperceptably together. Boodi runs, or gallops, on tiptoe up and down the hall, breathing loudly. He is self regulating his sensory needs or emotions. He can’t tell us which. When he stops to watch In the Night Garden, he emits squeaks and squeals.
It is almost lunch time. I am still in my pyjamas after another bad night, but the children are dressed. I am working on the synopsis for my book, which requires me thinking ahead more than I have, although the themes are clear. The process is invigourating, and I can hardly wait to get back to writing the story when I have submitted the first three chapters for the Richell Prize.
I am also writing my submission, which is where you must write how winning the prize would change your writing career. Later, I will probably publish that here on the blog, because it was a thought provoking question, and I enjoyed writing it. The deadline is in a little over a week, and I could continue rewriting, editing and drafting my chapters for another six months, which I probably will, but for the purposes of the prize, I will have to just say enough is enough and submit in the next week. Deep breaths will be required that day, as well as champagne.
When the prize was first announced, the concept of finishing even one chapter was daunting to me. Finishing the three, and the transformative hard work that has brought it from first draft to hundredth draft (or so) has changed something within me. A little unfurling of self belief has spouted there. I’m not writing a heartbreaking work of staggering genius here, but I am emerging, and that is enough to sustain me through the days and nights, and to keep me writing.
Linking up with Jess for #IBOT