The other day, I was thinking about my one-time dream of being an author. Well, is it a one-time dream? I certainly wanted to do hat more than anything until the age of 13, where I decided I wanted to be a rockstar more than anything. But author was always there, patiently, waiting in the background. After all, isn’t a lyricist a writer?
In fact, that’s the story of my dream of being an author: patience and subtle inclusion. I have a lot of friends who are looking to write a novel this year, or the year after… some people, with the helkp of NaNoWriMo, have even managed. Not I. Anything I write know will be half-baked and artless, and since I know I can do better, I will wait. I know that at this stage in my life, I’m not good enough; I haven’t read enough, I don’t understand the craft of a beautifully constructed plot intuitively, and crucially I haven’t got enough life experience. The people you meet, the hobbies you have, the places you go all inform how you write. Even though I would prefer to write fantastical books for children and young adults (not a realm which demands great profundity and realism) my experience isn’t enough. I haven’t had kids, for a start. Or a boyfriend!
All my life I have been blessed with far-reaching patience. I was never stressed about having a boyfriend in school because I know that eventually I would find someone. And equally, I never really worried that my time is up for writing, or that the fact that I can’t construct a plot means I’m not a good writer. I am confident in my ability to phrase myself well, to write with grace and, on occasion, humour. And it’s not a lack of ideas which is stopping me: characters and scenes present themselves to me so often that iI have to carry a notebook with me which I regularly empty. Some of the best books have come from dreams, or moments on trains – others have been years in the womb. I hope mine will be a bit of both.
As usual, I finish this blog with the sardonic thought: “Oh yes, you NEEDED to know this.” I must admit, I’m struggling to break out of the egocentricity a blog can tempt into.
But now I’m hungry! Breakfast time!