I feel quilty, I’e been unashamedly neglecting this blog for a while.  And seeing as I started it to establish the habit of writing everyday, that ain’t such a great thing!  I am sorry, bloggy, I shall pay more attention to you.

I have been doing lots of writing otherwise.  Been working on a short story for a while.  It’s so confusing because it’s something I want to make into a book, and the process of shortening a novel’s plot into one thats apt for a short story is one that I am struggling with.  There are too many questions and not enough answers!  What detail is superfluous enough to leave out, what’s essential enough to include?  Should there be dialogue, or just the narration of what was said?  Does the plot twist and turn many times and if so, when is it necessary to include one of those complications that change the course of the story? The biggest question of all is:  what do I title the story?  Thus far, I have not been able to come up with even a single phrase that could capture the entire essence of the story, something that catches your eye as you pass the bookshelf and stays at the back of your head and creeps up when you least expect it so that you find yourself pondering over it, fascinated to the point where you feel that nw you just have to buy that book!  How will I be able to come up with something like that?

 All these questions and more are the ones I find myself thinking about unconsciously, while I’m working out, eating, or even sleeping.  I’ve even started having vivid dreams of my story, seeing myself as the main character, and considering the fact that she doesnt live happily ever after, it’s almost disturbing.  I dont know how far I’ve gone in creating a character different from myself, I have tried to include traits and habits that aren’t mine but I know that despite my efforts, some of me has seeped into her.  The act of creating a character itself is almost burdensome, I think, it’s like creating a new life, giving birth to something you are responsible for.  Whatever she does or doesn’t do, says, implies, imitates – I am accountable for all of it, and that’s a scary thought.  The idea that some of her is me adds to that, because all her actions are then motivated by my own personal reasons, it’s like I’m writing about myself in a fictionalised world where the skyline is the limit for my imagination.

I am satisfied so far, but I hope I am happy with the end result.  So happy that some of my happiness diffuses into the atmosphere and finds itself diffusing back into the judges of the contest that I’ll be entering my story into.  Wishful thinking, I know, but hey, skyline imagination right?


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