The New Post

Time for a new post. Come on then, genius—let’s have a great topic. Something that lets the words flow.

Trouble is, I’ve got nothing. The cursor flickers. I struggle, but the page stays blank.

So what now? Make coffee. Let my mind wander. See what it trips over.

Then it hits me: I’ve been writing fiction. I’m in the middle of a new novel, and it’s never easy to blog when a story is barging its way out.

That’s why I’ve been posting short stories instead of regular entries. The storyteller took over. Ideas came racing out, and I had to transcribe them. It felt like someone else was at work—a muse, or something living in the deep dark of my brain. The stories kept arriving, so I kept posting them.

Oops.

Not the best move for a blog. You’ll notice I’ve removed them now—the older ones, at least. If you missed them, they’re gone.

Why? Nervousness. I started thinking: What if nobody wants short stories here? They become Schrödinger’s blog posts. If you publish a post and nobody reads it, does it exist?

All this was circling when I sat down just now. And this stream of consciousness is what came out—a snapshot of my internal chatter. I like writing like this. No meddling from the "writerly" persona who wants to line-edit every syllable. Write and be damned.

I wonder if I can do more of this. Let go. Keep the editor off the pitch. The rebel in me hopes so. Getting words down matters; bleeding over every revision is tedious.

A famous author once said editing is divine. I prefer the human part.

To write is human. To edit is divine. (Stephen King)

Fuck divine. It clogs the arteries of simple expression. Creative writing courses should teach that freedom matters more than plot or story arcs. Freedom fills the page.

Freedom gets you to page fifty. As Roddy Doyle put it:

Do be kind to yourself. Fill pages as quickly as possible; double space, or write on every second line. Regard every new page as a small triumph, until you get to page 50. Then calm down, and start worrying about the quality. Do feel anxiety – it’s the job.

Yes. Exactly that.

Right, I’m done. Back to the novel or something. I’ll publish this and crack on.