Actually, that last one is the killer. Books are great, as is saying you're going to write one. But what the fuck am I meant to write about?!?! Vague recollections of old short stories float in my mind and I wonder if any of those are decent. But the truth is, if any of them had been decent, they would've been more than short stories.
I have a friend who is also embarking on this crazy book malarky. We thought it would be a great motivator if we made a bargain: by the end of August, we would swap an outline and first chapter with each other. Both being former journalists, we work best to deadlines, and August had, at the time, been a looooong way away. But today is 1 September; the deadline has been moved. We are terrible.
I will be good at this. I promise myself, I will get this done.
So, plot. What on earth am I going to write about? Characterisation, story arcs, back stories, these will all come as soon as I have found a protagonist and a story to tell. I have something kicking around in the back of my head; I'll try to flesh it out and see how it goes. A tale based somewhat on reality; but then, we're meant to write what we know, right? Right?
