I've been away from this blog for the last few days because I've been busy writing towards the end of my novel. There comes a stage in the writing process where you get so into the story that it becomes hard to figure out exactly what is reality and what is fiction.
No - that's not exactly right. You do know - if you think about it - which is which. It's just that the emotions of he narrative you are telling start bleeding into real life. Like watercolour paint spreading out into a sheet of paper.
It is the obsessive end of the writing cycle - for me, anyway.
Now... where was I?
Thursday, March 31, 2005
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I have been there. In one story I worked on, the hero is with his lifelong friend. The friend, once so cheerful, is now morose because of a tragic event. He is ready to end his life and is in effect saying goodbye before he jumps. The hero talks him through it and in the end the two are holding onto each other, brothers united, sobbing in grief and relief.
I too was sobbing through the emotion of it all and through the mists of tears and feelings as I was trying to mould the last paragraph, a sharp voice rang out from afar.
'Geraint! We're going to Tesco's NOW!'
A scream rent through the air. I didn't write that one, I lived it....
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