Continued, but no further along

So, months later, and where were we?

I am currently no further along - in my writing. However, the agency is growing, and we have taken on new clients and challenges since I last commented here. I have been buried deep in the world of detail and delivery. And it will continue for the foreseeable future.

But this isn't a bad thing. I'm really dedicated to the work we are doing at phunQube and to our clients. We're proud of our accomplishments, and I daresay, hope to continue with providing excellent service to our clients.

I've had little time for all else, though I have to say, since the last post, I have had to deal with a family tragedy back in the states, the flu, and other generally time-consuming and unhelpful issues. Through it all, I've had little time to concentrate on writing.

I have re-connected with an old friend in Brighton, a promising and currently publishing poet, and someone with whom I've been able to re-kindle conversations around that old bug of writing versus career, life versus creativity, etc. And as the year progresses, and the small things in life are worked out, I find my thoughts turning back to writing, and what I can do in the little bits of time that I have.

A friend's blog reminded me of something that Hemingway once said, though he used it in a different context than me.

'Writing, at its best, is a lonely life... For [the writer] does his
work alone and if he is a good enough writer he must face
eternity, or the lack of it, each day.' (Hemingway)

It is certainly lonely. As much as I have tried to see it as a more social endeavor - showing anything I've done to my partner or friends - at the end of the day, it is up to me to sit, and think, and understand, and finally to write what I think I understand down.

My problem where writing is concerned is that I have often put what I believe other people will think ahead of the actual writing, and in the end, thinking that I have guessed or intuited the will of others, I write something that is facile, devoid of any feeling, that sits flat on the page.

If I am to write again, it needs to come from me first. It needs life and blood to make it live. It needs inspiration, and indeed aspiration to make it bold. It should stand equally among those who read it, as individual and self-sustaining as its readers - some of whom will agree, some who will disagree, others who will feel inspiration, or aspire to be more because of it. But it cannot anticipate these things, or the thinking or reactions of these people. It must first be its own self, have its own substance.

I must first aspire to be myself, and be inspired by the things around me. I must live and breath my own air, and understand life even as I live it. I must be astonished by life, surprised by it. And sometimes be afraid of it. If I am to write again, I must feel all of these things. Then, perhaps I will have tools to choose from when I next sit down to write.

A further thought... and whinge?

I used to like writing science fiction and fantasy when I was a kid. It reflected the type of fiction that I most often read, escapist and in many ways indicative of things that were unobtainable. As I grew older my reading was tempered with “real literature” and then later more action-adventure and mystery-crime fiction. I grew from Feist, LeGuin, Donaldson, Asimov to Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Hawthorne, Welty, and finally to such modern genrists as Cussler, Clancy, Grafton and Ludlum. My reading tastes are now a hodgepodge of literary and genre, criticism and poetry.

It’s been a long while since I’ve written anything to completion, whether poem, short story, or that mountainous of all literary endeavours, a novel. I have completed numerous of the former two, but none of the latter, and it is the latter to which I now wish to strive. I am caught up in the indecision of what to write, where to focus, how much research and detail do I need to know before I begin, do I work with the novel beginnings already littering my hard drive?

I could make a novel of false starts and best intentions.

I recently read a blog by an old friend and fellow writer which reminded me of some of the lessons we learned in our writing workshops at Emerson. They’ve given me something more to think about – as if I didn’t have enough already. But perhaps this time I’ve also got some help, as they suggest I dump the above, forget the indecision, pick a point, and well, start writing. All of which puts me back to where I’ve been for the last 8 years since leaving Emerson – on the event horizon of a black-hole of uncertainty, inert and staring into a black abyss of nothingness.

To be continued?

a look back, a step forward

2004 was a long and strange year. I began the year working as a consultant, founded a company somewhere along the way, turned my home life inside out, and ended the year spending Christmas in our flat in London.

I developed plans with my partner this year to get back to writing. It is important for me to affect a return to writing in the not too distant future. I've spent a very little amount of time editing some of my short stories this year, and have started and stopped 3 novels. I've ended the year working on one novel and am currently 5 chapters into the story. Let's hope this one holds out.

A good piece of advice I received from a friend of mine this year is to complete a novel - keep writing until it is finished, and don't look back. I intend to follow that advice. You'll see here if I'm successful or not.

I'm working full time with my company as well - www.phunqube.com. It's been a busy year there. I began with one business partner, and ended with another. We've finally come together and have a great proposition and great clients heading into this year.

I hope to travel a bit more this year - short trips even, city breaks to see what kind of places I'd like to visit for longer periods. All european travel of course.

In any case, watch this space this year!!!