After a year of barely being able to write at all (due to Life with a capital 'L' happening), I recently settled down with some enthusiasm to a project called FallingBook. It was a reworking of an existing manuscript of a story that's been with me for around 15 years. At least, it was to have been a reworking, because as time passed, I realised that it's not exciting me. Curious, I peered into my head and heart to see what the problem was, and ultimately discovered that FallingBook isn't what I'm supposed to be playing with at all.
Maybe it's because my head's not in the right place. Maybe I'm being a flake. Maybe it's because I should simply leave the manuscript as it stands in its 2010 version; not because it's a thing of beauty, but because it's time to move on from that particular story.
More than anything, I think I was unconsciously playing games with myself. See, returning to writing after a year of effectively not, is scary! I suspect playing around with an existing story was my brain's way of easing me back into it.
So, I've bitten the bullet, set FallingBook aside (for good? Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows?) and begun a brand new project. And you know what? It's scary as all hell, and it's thrilling as all hell. I'm fairly riddled with doubts - can I even do this writing thing after so long without? But I'm mostly ignoring them and simply sitting down with notebook and pen and letting my imagination romp.
I'm feeling a little fragile and superstitious about the whole thing at the moment, so forgive me if I don't reveal anything more about the project for now. Suffice to say: it's fun. After all, that's what this writing lark should be.