Would anyone out there want to shoot me? Of course, I’d rather not actually be shot.
Suddenly, I was back in the 1990s again. It was almost eerie. Immediately I remembered another Meg Ryan film I’d seen in 1995… and someone else’s then reaction to it…
I fully understand now why some authors do go loopy or worse – and especially when embarking on a several years’ long writing effort.
How many of us deep down desire to get away from all of the “noise” of this century in which we must live? How many of us wish to saunter on a secluded country lane by the side of our well-dressed handsome gentleman or bonnet-wearing lovely lady?
Because once the last word is on the page, well, that’s it. Done. You have become just someone who has written a book. That was then. What are you doing now?
I considered my perspective and my tiny contributions in four (and, hopefully, soon to be five) novels. I hope within them I have offered “creativity” – travel, learning, history, friendship, love, and even some lessons – that entertains, but also gets readers involved and thinking. But no single book can be everything and it is asking too much of any writer to produce that.
Oh, and what do authors discuss in private messages? Hush, hush, secret writing stuff, of course.
I had one of those writing moments early on Saturday morning here at my dad’s house too. These things often hit us in the middle of the night. Actually… in that case I mean about 4 o’clock in the morning.
Occasionally the American featured celebrity tracing his/her family tree comes across as – much as I hate to say this – worryingly clueless about wider history and lives lived prior to the present.
Don’t groan. I know you find that all rather obscure history stuff. But I find it fascinating, okay.
And you never know when you might find it useful knowledge…
I thought once again about how learning history is, yes, about broadly knowing “big events”; but more important is drilling down to contextualize them and seeking better to understand those lives lived before ours.
My mother never knew any of my books even existed because I was certain she would have been unhappy with them; I didn’t see the point of creating trouble and my uncle had agreed with me on that…
I admit I adore some of those “who” I write, and my hope is that over the course of a book that a reader comes to do so as well.
My cousin in New Jersey, prompted I gather from all of our exchanges about her daughter’s writings, emailed me that she had the other day bought ALL of my novels.
Seriously, I’m not inherently anti-social or excessively aloof, or inclined to hermit-hood. I’ve been told (more than once) in person that I’m actually a pleasant person. I’m also “socially” NOT my uncle.