Big Hopes In Little Winhaven

A week ago I set myself a challenge; to write a novel. In seven days. I say a week ago, but I had been rambling on about it for a while to friends, but having talked the talk for a considerable amount of time, my week out of the office seemed to come out of nowhere and I was less than prepared. Discussing this with friends at the Portland Arms on Saturday night, I admitted I wasn't sure what it was going to be about but somewhat arrogantly stated that my 'ideas' folder on my hard drive has 27 pages worth of notes and surely one of them would be usable...none of them were.

Finally clearing any emails and having written my weekly newspaper column, I started 'work' on Sunday evening. I'd stocked up the flat with pizza, Red Bull, snacks and just a couple cans of lager (alcohol can free the creative mind, but this wasn't a private social and I needed to focus). I closed the blinds, I'd locked the door, I'd surrounded myself with note paper for random scribblings, I'd downloaded 'Tapestry' by Carole King as it sounded like it would be awesome writing music, I'd researched what constitutes a novel (40,000 words or more, anything between 17,000 - 39,999 is a 'novella', anything below 17,000 is a short story) and then I stared at a blank screen for about three hours. I was clueless, and had a long week ahead of me.

I didn't sleep well on Sunday, I was frustrating myself; writing a novel in a week is a hard enough task but even harder when you just have no ideas. Things were bugging me - it reminded me of a difficult evening I had with my ex-girlfriend last month, in which she said I was destined to be 'a local hero' forever, I don't think she meant it as a criticism, she was just pointing it out. I took that remark badly, and it had bugged me ever since because I'm striving, pushing myself, but yes - trapped very much still in a local shell. It was bugging me on Sunday evening - I couldn't even think of an idea for a novel, I was destined to be small time forever. But then I realised it was a lovely concept for a story...

The rest of the process was remarkably easy - I conjured up several situations within a small market town within which our trapped, desperate heroes could gradually fall apart, added a very occasional overblown unrealistic element, a little fantasy, and offered hope for a resolution to their despair. It was written quickly - about 10,000 words a day, of course there were times when I got frustrated/went back to bed/kicked a wall, there were times when I looked at myself in the mirror and doubted that this was a good use of my time. But when I was really flying, it was like I was on a different planet. I started to believe, and care for, these characters, I wanted them to succeed but also didn't want them to because that would be too predictable.

I'm really happy with the way it's turned out - 4 and a half days, just over 40,000 words, 11 cans of Red Bull consumed. I left the flat just the once - when my mate Heather invited me out to the theatre on Wednesday evening, it was the break my head needed. I listened to 'Tapestry' in it's entirety about 30 times. It's called 'Big Hopes In Little Winhaven', I'll go back and edit it in a couple weeks time, and then try and find a home for it somewhere next year, will probably end up sticking it online myself.

I checked my emails for the first time in a week to see that I've been offered a small publishing contract for my 2009 play, 'With Arms Outstretched', from a publisher based in Canada. That made me happy, giving a hint that I'm not too trapped in this local shell. I then had a frustrating evening out, confirming in many ways that I still very much am. Bugger.