The Urge to Write

I had thought, until this week, that my excuses about "not being able to write because the environment wasn't right" were just words. Words I might more usefully put towards writing my novel, the great love of my life. But here in Spain, against all expectations, I have sat down and re-written the difficult passages I hated, and crafted new passages I love. The usual daily word-count has been roughly 3000 words a day, which is no mean feat. Today, however, whether it's because my time here is running out, or because I've been captivated by the very world I've created, the total exceeds 6000 words.

There must be something, then, in this idea of the correct environment for writing. The internet, as ever, provides too much distraction, but here there is a little wire I have to physically link to - something I can only be bothered to do when the book demands I research a detail or two.

I've also been writing outside in the Mediterranean sunshine, which is undeniably pleasant, but the wasps, flies and constant heat do represent a distraction. They're annoying. But looking over the valleys towards the sea obviously provides a more conducive environment for writing than a dark, North-facing room in Bristol, or the same dark North-facing room in Somerton. Something in this peace, and in the time available to me here, is obviously familiar. I've had too many lazy years of this. But now there's something added. A feeling that to not write in this place would be a crime against myself.

And so I have been prolific, and inspired. Unlike my previous writing, I have reveled in dialogue, and let it lead the plot in a way I never before thought possible. The characters are fully at the centre of the book, and driving it forward. And every detail leads to a suggestion of new scenes, even - in once instance - an entirely new and worthwhile chapter.

I'm now at nearly 20,000 words, and have completed 6 chapters out of a planned 15. This represents, to my immense relief, the potential for a real "novel"-sized piece of work. And I owe it all to this reluctant holiday, and to Mum's indulgence of my whim.

The task now, as I return back into the stress of Hatherleigh and family, is to replicate this creative environment, and finish the work I have only really started here.

So I repeat: to my relief, I am not lazy. I just needed the right environment!