I’m trying to start writing something.
I’ve edited a lot over the last month, even re-wrote bits of things.
It’s been cathartic to feel it coming back, to hear narration in my head again, to refresh memory of how to create.
I’ve even got a friend asking me to write her something.
How did I used to start a piece of fiction? I frankly can’t recall. I can’t recall how to get from blank page to — that thing that happens after a blank page. That thing where words go, with purpose and meaning and intent.
I was good at this, a while ago, until I stopped being able to do it at all.
I’m doing this instead of that, an avoidant technique.
Stop stalling I say to myself. Type.
In a minute.
Meanwhile, I was successful in getting a number of friends interested in my novella, Wanton. One or two via Facebook, but maybe 20 via a post on Instagram.
The two on Facebook actually read, loved, responded. But the mass of people from Instagram, not one went beyond thanks after asking for the link.
It’s the age old creator’s problem, isn’t it. Create something for yourself, first, because audiences don’t really want to venture forth to new things, even if they ask.
Ah well. Three or four new readers is something, particularly after a decade of not having anything posted. It’s a start.
But as a reminder to myself, go listen more to friends music. Go read their books. TELL THEM you’re reading, listening. Creators need it.