Moving Forward

I know this blog is about I am GoD connecting, and hopefully some of you are waiting to read what influenced me to write chapter nine, but…  I’ve started writing again.  

This is good news for me.

I wasn’t suffering from writers’ block, as that’s something that happens to people who have deadlines and dates to meet, I have only those I set myself.  But I had chosen to put my pen down, metaphorically speaking, to make a distance from what I had written.

So.  Carrying on with my good news:  I have started polishing the chapters of book four.  I am at present working on chapter three.

My next admittance might not be sensible, wise, or commercial… oh there are probably lots of reasons not to type it, as it can be misunderstood so easily.  But what would be the point of writing this blog about how my creation occurs if I lie, or leave bits out… so…

I’ve also started drinking again.

Not in any substantial amounts, (I have been tea total for a while) and It’s a wonderful feeling, as I sit in front of my laptop with a glass of wine and the ideas begin to flow. 

This does not happen when I am completely sober. 

Sober, I can control the grammar, write my blog, try to get people interested in it, learn, check… all those things I could pay someone else to do… But I cannot write creatively.  If I do it comes out forced, like a big fake smile.  This is because all my life seems to get in the way.  I need to believe what I am doing is worthwhile.  This is not easy.  Everywhere I look, I am surrounded by memories that bring me pain.  A pain that just doesn’t fade.

A simple example is this:  Today, I was preparing an English lesson for school tomorrow.  To do this I picked up an exercise book to check what vocabulary and grammar I needed to teach.  Unfortunately, without knowing it, I picked up the old textbook of my lost daughter.  I saw her mistakes and I wondered why she never asked me.  I do not remember being a ‘scary dad’ or an overzealous father.  I just can’t seem to work it out.  I can’t figure out what I did wrong, and I will never know.  I will never be able to ask her.

This downward turn in my mood is not uncommon.  Part of writing I am GoD triggers it.  I don’t know how other writers work but, in my attempt to make my characters believable, I need to bounce them off some real event from my life.  The book is not autobiographical (smile), but I find it easier to write about emotions if I can compare them to my own, or someone I once met.

This seems pretty logical to me.

Add this to the fact that at this moment in time, I am trying to describe what is the greatest emotional love scene in the book, and then, at the same time destroy it completely, through George’s lack of comprehension, fear, and anxiety; it is not easy.  The only way I can make sure it is believable and not insincere, is to go to the darkest part of my own memories and look at them.  Turn them around and see them from different angles.  This does not help me to move on, or understand how they came about, it does not help me in anyway, probably quite the opposite, but how can I write a scene of utter beauty and loss if I have never felt it myself?

I also know I am not the only one who has such sorrow.  In fact, I am fairly sure there are people out there whose sorrow makes my pain look like a scratch.  This only goes to make my attempt of writing this scene more important.  If George has pain it has to be real, anything else would be an insult to those who suffer.  No matter how fantastical or unbelievable my story is, with its virtual world and adventures, the emotions my characters feel, should not be so.

Surely, it must be a great feeling knowing someone else can communicate to the emotional roller coaster my characters go through, as well as the fun and excitement of the book.  If that happens, then honestly, I believe I have done a decent job … right?

By edwardholden

I have been lots of things to many people. Some nice, and some... well not so nice. Now I am older and less worried about what people think of me. My past is colorful, sad and happy. Filled with lots of unique people. I have been blessed in this way. I have walked with people in all walks of life, and I have loved each journey, and each and everyone of them. Now, I write. It is a new road. It is not a highway or a crossroad. It leads me somewhere though, and as I have always spent my life travelling, this suits me fine.

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