Writing Fiction: Empty Boxes

I should have finished the final amendments to the novel within the next couple of weeks.  It’s gone quicker than I thought it would.  After that, I slot the changed chapters back into the novel, read it again and send it back to the editor.

In other words, I’m going to have to find something new to write.  The obvious step is to go back to the novel I put aside to finish up the old one.  It’s about three-quarters done and there’s some good stuff in it.  Thing is, I have just spent over a year on yet another rewrite of the old novel; do I really want to go back again?

Nile Rodgers, speaking on a documentary about Daft Punk, said, ‘There’s no special feeling in the world, to me, that matches the magic of creating something from nothing.’

At Tate Modern they have an installation that has been running since October.  Triangular boxes of soil, collected from London parks, lit and watered.  No seeds have been sown, but still, in the months since it started, plants have begun to grow.  Some, no doubt, from mischievous members of the public.  But still, the idea of how little it takes for life to start is inspiring.

One thing I have enjoyed in the rewrite is discovering new characters who come from nowhere and interact freely.  Letting them talk, start and stop.  No background profiles, no context, no point.  Just doing what seems fun.

So then, a period of empty boxes.


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