This isn’t my first attempt at writing Darklight Rest. There’s something about this story that is tempting, intriguing, compelling, and then there’s a big, huge, overwhelming part that’s incredibly hard to grasp. I’ve been on pure Muse territory lately, and it’s like feeling my way forward through the dark, hands outstretched, with no idea where I’ll end up. Most of the times, I’ll find a wall. Change direction, start over, another wall. Sometimes a tiny corridor I can just about squeeze through but by God, the light in those corridors! If this story weren’t so tantalizing, I would have abandoned it half a dozen times by now…
But Mariany’s voices comes through so clearly. When the writing goes well, I don’t have to think at all. It’s like channeling what’s already happening elsewhere, I just need to type it in and later take out the typos. I love writing when it happens in this way. Trouble is, I hardly seem able to write any other way anymore.
It’s a lot to do with my recent changes in lifestyle, I suppose. The past two years have been a rocky journey towards removing from my life as much as possible of what’s bad, boring, heavy, dishonest, not worth my time. Seems my Muse is coming along for the ride, with the result that I’m getting better writing, but also a lot less of it. It takes longer to find the right way, and I don’t have a process for it yet. I guess that’s fine. Life changes, writing changes. And I’m having many more of those brilliant-writing moments than I used to.
I get impatient, though. I want to know the story of these two women who meet in a place without memory. Why are they here? Who were they before they came? Why does one of them die? Yes, I get told this on page one, second paragraph, but my Muse is holding off the revelations for later. It’s like reading a book, not knowing the ending until I write it (I think I’d hate to know the ending in advance, because if I did, what would be the point writing it?). It just takes such time, and I’m usually a fast reader.
Every time I encounter writer’s block, if I want to call it that, there are lessons to be learned from it. I think this time around, the lesson is patience. Letting go, trusting the Muse. It’s true, I have been bad at trusting her for some time now, and yet she’s never let me down. The more I succeed in letting go, the more the words just come to me. It’s just that nowadays, we all get taught so much on how to succeed, how to perform, how to work hard, and you hardly get through any book, course or blog on writing without it telling you that writing is hard work and if you’re just in it for the fun, go find yourself a different hobby. Sad, isn’t it? Because it’s those fun bits I enjoy so much, and since I’ve started looking after myself more, I get plenty of them. But it seems my Muse also demands her resting periods.
You know what, have them. I know we’ll meet when we’re both ready for it.