Day 3: Story Time

On Tuesday night, while I was trying to go to sleep, I got a fully formed, fat story in my head, suddenly and almost all at once. It has meat on its hips, that story, and a proper gait of its own. 

Cats of any kind are a serving suggestion only

I have no idea how to write it, so I'm going to have to ask for help. I'm going to have to do it badly. As Ann Lamott, my new favourite wise woman says, you have to be willing to write shitty first drafts. 

In 'Word by Word', the audiobook of one of her talks, she elaborates. You don't start learning a musical instrument with the plan of murdering 'The Farmer in the Dell', but you will have to do that if you're ever going to play that Bach Suite you're so fond of. I'm paraphrasing, but I'm sure she'd give me her blessing. Buy her books ('Bird by Bird' is fantastic and I'm excited about her new one, called 'Almost Everything: Notes on Hope').

May I make this woman proud with my shitty first drafts,
and my hope

Wish me luck making a mockery of the English language, fucking up story structure, writing dialogue that would make you think 'Has this woman every heard people speak? Or has she walked through the world with her fists jammed down her ear canals?' 


Wish me luck sewing together the dismembered hunks of story that may come, and the shreddy rags of meaning that come on the drier days. Let's see what this wants to become, and I promise to offer as much love to the bits I think are shit as to the bits I think I've nailed, in the knowledge that time will probably flip that on its head. 

Here's to writing the story that wants to be told instead of creating a 'trophy tale'... check ME out and my Writing Prowess (etc). And to messing that up too. 

Time for a story before bed. 
Goodnight.