I want to write a novel.
Not in a wistful, maybe one day, kind of way, but because there is a story rolling around my head that needs to be told. The basis of the first chapter was born in about 2005 as a short story, then in 2009 I realised there was more to it and the unravelling began, mostly in my head with some note-making at times. I was so excited and whilst I had no experience of writing, it really felt that writing this story would be good for me.
Yet, here I am, four years later, no progress made (on paper) and life doing what it does so well. I have thought about it a lot but been unable to get myself into the habit of writing on a regular basis. I even enrolled for an Open University course on writing fiction, only managing to complete the marked work (none of the exercises or group discussions) and doing quite well in it which surprised me, it pleased me too but not enough to get me going.
A couple of weeks ago I decided that I should give myself some space and accept that it would take about a year to write a draft and just start. It was true, I should just start but I was still dilly-dallying like a pro. Then came the gift of coincidence. In the window of my local Oxfam bookshop stood a copy of 'A Novel In A Year' by Louise Doughty. How could I resist? 52 chapters, a week at a time, this was definitely a sign. All I needed now was a way of sticking to the weekly exercises and hence the blog. Whether anyone chooses to read it cannot limit my effort and therefore, I commit to a weekly update on progress against the exercises.
I will take a deep breath and begin......