It started out so well. Got the first bis of my story down. And then some more. Hey, I was heading towards 3000 words and still going strong. 500 more and it was climbing. My story was going places. Yes, I would be a winner. Yes, this was going to be a-maz-ing. Yes, I was a writer.
But then No happened. I opened up my novel and it just looked back. "Where you going on this one?" if seemed to say. "Thought you had something important, something profound" I felt a twinge of shame. Yes, I thought that I had something insightful to impart. That I could write a soul wrenching love story that didn't rely on shagging, that was all about those untold emotions that course through us when we have love in our lives and when old lovers return.
No kept happening. Day after day. Inspiration alluded me and I was beginning to think that this task was too great for me. That I am a talker not a writer; that I don't have the words.
However, the muse strikes from the oddest directions. Part of my novel had been formulated when I was working on North Uist in 2006. The landscape is astonishing. Low hills, lots of water, bogs and peat banks, small townships scattered across and brown and green and brown. It was so different to any place I had spent previously. I found the photos I had taken all those years ago and it suddenly struck me where my story should be going.
Yes, there was a lot to explain about the history of these islands but I am writing a love story and I love these islands so isn't not going to be difficult and I will do it.