Writing From an Edge: Time to Mine

Picking Things Up, While Deep in the Editing Graft

Friday is tomorrow, and Saturday (15th Feb) is my first spoken word gig in 18 months – to the day – since I had a brain haemorrhage. I’m a tiny bit scared, mostly frustrated, with worries over frankly boring stuff. Will I get too tired? Will I have a small seizure? Will anyone notice? Will anyone turn up? If nothing else, I’ll remain hopeful, remember my middle name is resilient, and chug along.

It will bring me a breather from the deep, dark path that is editing. The terrifying graft that is also the sweetest, most satisfying activity – and more addictive than all the morphine I’ve had recently.

Penny’s press call at the Edinburgh International Book Festival, 2017.

I’m on the fifth draft of my current novel. The phase of immersion, when what is called ‘real life’ falls away and only the world that you have created has significance. True, it’s hard to talk about this stuff without sounding like a pretentious, and portentous, waffler. But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth saying.

I’m proud of myself because it’s taken some rewiring of my thought processes next to practical and novel problem-solving. I cannot handwrite, cannot type (for longer than a few moments), and voice dictation is not yet fit for creative work. No, I will not argue. And, I’ve lived this life, fighting with this lying, slimy technology for some time. I’ve been in hospital. I’ve had acute illness. I’ve ridden the fiery dragon of pain and pulled it into line. Struggled to eat and drink as this other world that I create, demands my absolute attention.

My writing family, you know what this is. Send me whispers of love and say there, there. You’ll have the moment of ecstasy soon, the thrill of believing in yourself, when – even if it’s fleeting – you know your job is done, and it is good.

Back now to the family that I cannot leave long. Who I miss if I’m away. Who all need me to connect and complete their unfulfilled stories. I have to keep going. Right down to killing the snivelling little verbose darlings to make way for seams of treasure. That’s what we hope for, and I have two more weeks to go. Fingers crossed the treasure is there, and I survive the blissful, savage mining of it.

Gig details – Flight Feathers, 15th Feb 7pm, St Andrews Mews, Hastings.