I must have started about 6 or 7 books, as in, long haul novels in my time. And finished how many? Zero. I love to write, I carry my notebook with me everywhere, jotting down ideas for characters, settings, narration. Loser? Perhaps, perhaps not. I’ve written about promiscious doctors, lonely terrorists, Christian football players, murders … and not one of these stories has been completed.
I think I got the furthest with my promisicious doctor story. Classic holiday chic-lit, which I completed about 30,000 words of. I would rush home every day after school and sit with my laptop and my notepad, and refuse to stop until I’d written another chapter. Next came the terrorist story, thinking my It Girl London doctor was a bit too shallow, that I needed some depth to my writing – cue middle east desert, a topic which I have no understanding or experience of. I found I was beginning and stopping stories all the time, never finding myself, finding my true writing style in any of them.
So what next? I am still determined to complete a book one day. But perhaps I just have to accept and embrace the fact my writing style may not be suited to any one character for 300 pages. Maybe I’m better with the fast paced, live, up to date articles I one day hope to publish. This Summer I’m going to give it a go. Three months of doing nothing but travelling, and discovering myself. I have New York, epic amounts of camping and road trips planned plus plenty of ‘finding myself’. I’m sure I’ll be able to whack out a novel along the way. At least I’m sure as hell going to try!