Writing and friends

Helllllloooo!

Do you know what I've been doing lately?

Writing. (If you've seen it, read it in the voice of that Patrick Stewart skit where he talks about acting.)

I have been! I've been writing a lot, so many different stories, and I haven't blogged at all. It saps my writing mojo, y'know. (I've also done other things - I went to Japan for a month, and left Australia not speaking a word of Japanese! I moved house! I helped my boyfriend's parents buy a flat! I've also started on anti-anxiety meds that crushed my creativity for a few months there too, but it's much better now.)

My goal for 2013 was to get a story finished and e-published. As always with deadlines, I'm not anywhere near close. BUT. I have made progress. (Some of it is backwards but ultimately it is good.)

Through Reddit, I recently found a fabulous Beta/writing partner AND an awesome writing/critique community called Scribophile. I also posted the first part of my latest and favourite story up for critique on Reddit. Between beta-ing for my partner,  beta-ing and critiquing on Scribophile, and reading the comments on my Reddit thread, I've decided that honestly NOTHING I have written so far is publishable to real standards. If I release something, I want to be proud of it - and thinking "I'm just gonna bang something out and get it finished and it will BE OUT THERE IN THE WORLD" is not really a great mindset to be in. I think I'll still stick with my same story, but the 10K words I've got so far will probably be scrapped. The 10K words of outlining should still be okay though! I just need to speed the story up a bit and add a little more personality. I think that will help.

Anyway. Now I'm on Scribophile I'm basically just thinking about writing all of the time (especially at work, which is DANGEROUS.) I've joined a few groups and one of them posted a cute prompt that I really enjoyed. Here's something I wrote up in 5 minutes.

Maybe This Explains My Towel Obsession

“Arthur blinked at the screens and felt he was missing something important. Suddenly he realised what it was."Is there any tea on this spaceship?" he asked.”
― Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy 

As May 25th, Towel Day, passes once again and we bemoan the loss of my favourite author of all time, people start reposting these great tributes, and I sit back and think of everything Douglas Adams gave me. If nothing else, his gleeful ignorance of deadlines ("I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by.") is something I can appreciate as a writer.

There was the time when after the breakup of my long-term relationship, the saddest part was when I was unpacking in my new flat and realised that my ex-boyfriend had taken my entire well-loved collection of the Hitchhiker's Trilogy, a series I'd spent years collecting from second-hand bookshops. The pages were soft like fabric and the spines were ready to flutter apart at the slightest touch. I loved them and carried them around like a toddler with a blanky.

I remember the time one fateful Towel Day when, dressed in my pyjamas and with a towel slung over my shoulder, I took my camera and tripod to the nearby 'Dent St', set the self-timer, and stood under the sign with my thumb proudly raised. Yes, this photo is still on the internet. No, I'm not going to show you.

I'm also a die-hard Doctor Who fan, and in anticipation of the latest series final, the other day I rewatched one of the greatest Classic Doctor Who serials of which Douglas was the Script Editor - the City of Death. I wonder how much modern Doctor Who gets from Douglas' inspiration - especially the idea that no matter where the Doctor intends to go, his Tardis always takes him where he needs to be.

As for the lost Hitchhiker's series? I bought a box set from Ebay to replace them - all excited, I unwrapped them to find out that the books looked nearly identical to the set that had been taken from me. Identical, down to the creases in the cover and crinkly looking spine. To my horror, the creases had been scanned from someone else's beloved dog-eared copies, and printed on to the new pristine cardboard covers. It was all wrong.

I haven't touched them since that day. Instead, I relive my favourite Arthur Dent moments on the internet and through the ereader apps on my iPhone. Perhaps Douglas Adams would appreciate that.