Writing as Compulsion, Not Choice

 

Good evening my friends, it’s lovely to see you all, and on such a beautiful Spiring evening as well. Can I offer you some refreshment before we settle in for a cosy chat?

It’s almost two weeks since Remy stepped out into the world, and you know it feels incredible, and I have also finished the first draft of the book I was working on while I edited Tempus Lutetiae.

Which brings me to a question I was asked in conversation recently about what made me want to be a writer. 

Well, pull up a chair and I’ll tell you. 

The First Time It Refused to Leave You Alone

I was always writing in notebooks, on pieces of paper; I even outlined a book on several napkins. At age sixteen I was given a present of a manual typewriter. I wasn’t the most patient of people back then. So, I wrote my first novel while learning how to type. 

That was the first time I realised when the ideas that poured into my mind, and I wrote them down, it was the start of something important. I wasn’t aware then, I was too young to understand, that the ideas were just the beginning of the obsession, and that it refused to leave until the final words were written down.  

Discipline Comes After the Obsession

Twenty plus years as a professional writer has taught me that when I sit down at the desk, there is a ritual. Music playing in the background, a candle lit, with the soft aroma of vanilla and musk, the notebook open and a pen in hand, and I give in to the characters, this is their time to talk. 

Some characters naturally get into your mind, under your skin, and you form a deep affection for them. The writing is a little chaotic, but first drafts always are. They are never clean, never tight and very much obsessive. At least that is how I write.

Midway through the outline and the beginning of the writing process, the obsession is taken over by discipline. The love of the characters remains pretty much a preoccupation. Though now I begin to look at the plot, the situations and the personalities involved. How would they react? What would they choose? Sometimes, they just decide for themselves, and I just let my fingers type away.

Why Not Writing Is Worse

I’ve lost count of the short stories, essays, and novels that I have written, started and yes, abandoned. Sometimes a discarded manuscript doesn’t live up to the expectation it had when the idea was outlined. That’s alright, not every idea, or story written will make it to publication. Not because the story or the idea wasn’t very good. No, sometimes it just doesn’t fit, 

With me, I always finish a story but if I am not happy that it meets my own standards, I won’t publish it. 

Having said that, with every book written, I learn my craft, but it is more than that. Whether or not the book is published, I write because not writing is not an option.

Imagine, Van Gogh obsessively painting in Arles, the scene is perfect, but the weather isn’t, he sits in the bar drinking absinthe, feeling lost, his idea to paint that corn field, or the potato pickers, or even the cypress trees will not happen that day, and he panics. But Vincent carries a sketch book and charcoal. So, he draws. A glass of absinthe, a bottle, a table. Why? Because not drawing, not painting is not an option. 

Like painters, there is nothing worse for a writer than not writing. 

That’s why we write, whether we publish or not, doesn’t matter, it’s a compulsion.   

The Lie of Choice

We tell ourselves that we have a choice to write or not. It’s a lie. A writer has no choice but to write. We do it, even when we don’t have a pen in our hand. It’s second nature to us. We hear a word, catch a glance, notice a gesture. It’s filed away in the vast cabinet of the creative mind, saved for the moment it can be shaped into a scene.

That is the lie of choice that we tell ourselves.

So, my friends, I hope this little insight into my ritual has given you some inspiration to create your own story, write your own book.

Keep the candle flickering, the music soft, the notebook open.

Until next time,

Anna.