On banana’s in August…

 

I love writing but…

I especially love writing silly things but…

My latest absurdity is describing pixie culture in The House of Motokazu. Pixies, among other things, are horribly easy to offend. They have a philosophical objections to socks and are deeply suspicious of bananas.

This sort of ridiculous can keep me happily writing for weeks but lately I’ve found an increasingly frustrating tendency to sit at my computer and blow raspberries at it.

You see, its winter here in the Southern Hemisphere. August marks the final month before Spring. Its been rainy, in biblical proportions, cold and drear. I’m desperately sick of it. I’m tired and weary and trying to write anything seems like trying to slog through knee deep mud. I know I’m not alone. Many of my writers guild colleagues are suffering the same gloom.

Trying to produce anything with my usual verve seems like trying to grow bananas in August (not that you can actually grow bananas in New Zealand, I’m just trying to make the banana metaphor stretch). I’m even starting to hate the work I’ve actually finished. When you get to that stage you know its time to back away from the computer before you delete the work of years in a fit of pique.

In the words of Monty Python, “and now for something completely different”.

Writing is both equal parts inspiration and discipline, but you have to acknowledge when it’s time to stop forcing the issue and take a writing sabbatical for a month or so. So to that end I’m putting the lot in the metaphorical drawer and leaving it. I’m querying at the moment, which is a process of ‘hurry up and wait’. So while I’m waiting to hear back (if at all) I’ve decided to fuel my imagination with some self directed study.

There are a couple of books that have sat in my ‘to be read’ pile, for a while. Now is the time to dust them off. Just for the record, these are non-fiction study books which require concentration, not novels.

So, here’s the lineup… this should keep me out of trouble for a while…

Well maybe just one novel …

The last one is because I’m feeling very metaphorical about winter at the moment and this charming little story by Tove Jansson seems just the ticket.

I am also knitting a poncho out of an old, stupidly long, scarf.

Hopefully I will be back to my silly best soon. In the meantime The House of Petunia is still being queried… fingers crossed…