I’m writing a book.
There, I’ve said it.
Can’t take it back now. And that’s kind of the reason I’m saying it here. Now that it’s out I’ll be plagued by friends, co-workers and family from here to (hopeful) publication. If I say it here than i can’t slack off or postpone it forever as I’ve done so far.
I’ve always creatively written since I was a teenager but the daunting task of writing full length fiction has always brought on a huge case of writer’s block. I think that, like almost every Irish man who writes, I’ve done the whole “but sure why would I even try when it can never be as good as Joyce/Beckett/Yeats etc etc etc”.
Found a snazzy little mind trick to switch that off once and for all – write shite.
Maybe that’s being a bit harsh but what I’m sketching out is more Mike Gayle and Nick Hornby than John Banville. These days I have the time every day and to not use it wouldn’t be right so here I go…
Cue me being annoyed by everyone I know a la “Are we there yet? Are we there yet?” until I’m finished and for the subsequent years of rejection from publishers…
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea?
PS It’s already brought me a wonderful moment though. Am spending a lot of mornings in my favourite cafe making notes and just the other day an older man smiled as he passed me and asked “doing your homework, eh?”
That’s definitely going in.