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Journal

Butterflies

So it was the week I was at home with the Wombat at the end of August, and I remember the moment quite clearly. I was by the window in the kitchen, I just turned away and the most marvellous short story came to me all-ready cooked, as it were. All I had to do was write in down.

I was busy in the middle of another story and I have a rule of one story at a time, so I just put it aside, mentally like, saying to myself, I’ll work on it as soon as I’ve finished this one. I’ve done it before with no problems.

This time then, I promptly forget everything.

Everything that is, except the feeling that it was a wonderful story and needed to be told. Like waking up in the morning and knowing you have dreamed and it was a most satisfying dream… and it’s hovering around in the grey depths and just won’t come forward and be recounted. Frankly it’s worse than the word on the tip of your tongue feeling, it’s more like déjà vu mixed with nostalgia, with the added blur of the morning after the night before.

Quite gone.

I’ve since purchased a block of small index cards about 3”x5”, and now jot down strange ideas, openings, one-liners and fleeting scraps of character on them. Pinning them down like butterflies.

But that perfect story still hasn’t come back.

Probably never will.

Posted: Thursday, 17th September, 2009

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Welcome to my adventures in writing scary [well, I hope] YA fiction. More complete info here.

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black as snow Juliet has just moved to the country. She doesn’t like her new school, she doesn’t like living on a stinking farm where it always rains. Then she starts seeing a pony, waiting outside at night in the rain. And she’s sure it’s waiting for her...

Before she knows it, she is called on for help by a trio of strange creatures who live in the woods nearby. And then the rabbits... Oh yes, the rabbits.

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