Into the blurb

This will be my first, and possibly single wholehearted blog. Though if my positive attitude continues, it may just be the first of many. 

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Herein lies the beginnings of my novel. Yes, I’m one of those people, who will die saying I’m trying to/thinking of/really, really want to write a book. This is my fourth genuine attempt in eight years (the first attempt swallowed four of those years), though I can count at least three more that stopped to fascinate for a while. Of those three genuine attempts, I am still yet to finish one of them – finished in as much that I can give them to Husband to read without having to supervise the reading experience by explaining exactly what it means in the context of the scenes and information that I haven’t yet got round to writing, because – don’t worry – they’re in my head.

The ghosts of course of the previous attempts are surrounding my table now, whispering discouragements – 

– You’ll only stop halfway through because you’ll get BORED – 

– It’s never as good when you actually start writing it – 

– You’ll never write a book! Never! NEVER!

At the moment I don’t have a lot to reply to them with – I’ve been waving them away most of the afternoon with a flap of one of the three notebooks I’ve decided to use.

Which really brings me to the main reason I decided to blog instead of cook dinner. I’m a self-confessed stationery obsessive, but I had always functioned on the belief that the more notebooks I brought, the more organised I would become – one for writing, one for cooking, one for gifts, one for books that I’ve read…

In April I set myself a cold turkey mission and told Husband that I was throwing away all the notebooks that I wasn’t currently using, which would leave me with one hardback Moleskine, one mini Moleskine and my then brand new super exciting all singing all dancing Arc notebook. For any concerned readers, the detox actually involved lovingly wrapping the unused notebooks in newspaper and storing them in a cupboard with labels like ‘Blank’ and ‘Can be used as blank’. Actually, they were the only two labels. 

Saturday morning, I woke in a panic at 5.30am (panic due to some absurd worry that all my current ideas for ‘the new book’ would fly out of my mind unless recorded right that second). I made numerous cups of coffee, ‘tidied’ the living room (moved a few glasses into the kitchen) and then decided that it would be best to go and sit at the desk upstairs and start to write things down. Then I broke into my stash and rescued one Moleskine cahier, one brand new still in its wrapper soft Moleskine and a (at the time a recklessly spontaneous purchased) Moleskine project notebook. I never had any projects to work on, so it really had been greedy of me. 

However. They have all come into a pretty interplay, the two smaller notebooks bound in a Filofax Flex that I found in a TK Maxx for a fiver. I spent a while on Saturday morning trying to set up a Flex dashboard like the ones I had spent waaaaaaay too much time reading about on blogs when I brought it, but gave up when I realised I was fussing. And procrastinating.

Which is what the biggest ghost said all day – there’s no way I’ll ever get this book done as long as I sit around and play with the notebooks. So I played in a different way and made up stories. A lot more fun, and hopefully a lot more productive!

 

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About 1000-blank-pages

Meant-to-be-a-writer-but-doesn't-even-blog 31 year old who keeps meaning to do "something"
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