Normally, I’d spend the weekend with my family, letting my brain wander, story ideas circling around until one goes ‘ping’ and feels like a good fit. I’ll then spend the rest of the weekend mentally sketching out the plot, before putting pen to paper (well, fingers to keys) the following week.
I’ve had a few ideas today but none that feel quite right. None that make me over-excited, over-confident and convinced this one will be my magnum opus (this happens a lot).
When I’m excited about a story I can’t think about anything else and will get lost in it for hours. It’s a glorious way to spend time and the main reason I’m pursuing this whole writing thing. As I get older I realise life is brief, life is hard, and I want to spend time doing things I enjoy. I suppose you could argue that the goal of publication isn’t necessary, but I’ve always been ambitious and would literally kill* to hold a copy of my own book in my hands.
Anyway, it’s a lovely sunny evening so I’m off for an al fresco pizza and beer with friends. Tomorrow is another day to dwell over fart jokes and whether or not a particular idea is ‘sparkly’ enough.
Have a good one.
(*Not literally, I’m just abusing that modern emphatic use to wind you up.)