All writers have some sort of muse. Some call it their “mojo”, others – especially if they’re Spanish-speaking – may call it “duende”. Some writers don’t have a name for this invisible presence that sometimes breathes VERY heavily down their neck. Me, I call my muse Ms Inspiration. I envision a lady of multiple contradictions: …
“No inspiration,” I sometimes sigh, while staring at the screen which remains enervatingly blank. And yes, inspiration is a must when it comes to writing—if nothing else as the igniting spark—but there’s another component which is just as important: discipline. “Of course,” my very own muse, Ms Inspiration says. For the day, she’s wearing a …
When my imaginary taskmasker wields the whip – a post about inspiration and discipline Read More »
When I first started toying with the idea of maintaining a blog, I had this vision of a two-way communication with the world. People, I thought, would read and enjoy and occasionally leave a comment that would confirm they’d seen me, heard me. And boy, doesn’t that make me sound needy? Maybe I was. These …
My mother was a teacher. She taught languages and literature and accordingly my sister and I grew up surrounded by stories – and with a grammar police. The grammar thing turned out useful if not overly exciting. Yes, both my sister and I know how to decline verbs in various languages, know the difference between …
Inspiration is a fickle thing. It’s not as if you can sit down at your computer, crack your knuckles and say, “right; it’s 19:00 p.m. Time for some serious inspiration.” Generally, my brain will blank out entirely when faced with an expectation to be creative. “Nope,” it will say, shrinking away to sulk in a …
… I write. What I mean is that when it no longer suffices to sit and dream about travelling to other times, other places, I write about them instead. A most economical and safe form of time travel. When I was a child, I ran around with a wooden shield and sword, pretending to be …
These last few hours have been defined by p-a-i-n. If I bend over to zip up my boots, my thighs and bum screech in protest. When I slide my arms into the sleeves of my winter jacket, my shoulder blades groan. If I stretch my arms over my head to lift down clean towels, my …
When Barbara Gaskell Denvil asked me if I wanted to participate in the Next Big Thing ”bloghop”, I was thrilled – and intimidated. Now the funny thing about Barbara nominating me, is that our main characters share a name. Her Alex (in Satin Cinnabar) is a man attempting to find his feet in a society …
My Next Big Thing – religious conflict in Lowland Scotland Read More »
The cursor blinks. It’s been doing that for very many hours, an enervating reminder of the fact that so far I have written not one single word in my new novel. Or rather I have, but I’ve deleted it just as fast. The most irritating aspect is that I know exactly what I want to …
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