It’s freezing here. Well, ok, it’s not actually freezing. Apparently it’s 12 degrees Celsius, but I’m sure it’s colder than that in our flat. I’ve resorted to thermal underwear, several layers of jerseys, winter stockings and a polar fleece jacket. And hot soup. I can’t find my slippers. I’m still cold.
To make matters worse, I think I’m getting a cold too. I can never tell whether I’ve just got bad hayfever (which can cause everything from sore throats to headaches) or if I’m coming down with a virus. When I get hayfever it messes up my immune system so I’m more likely to get colds (and more allergies). This time it’s probably because I ate dairy a few days ago, got hayfever, and then kept getting hayfever (because my immune system was struggling) and kept blaming it on other people’s cats, when actually it’s probably my own fault. Dammit.
Once upon a time
I’m scared of plot. This wouldn’t be a huge problem, except that in a few weeks I have to hand in a collection of eight short stories. Eeeep. I still think of plot as something strange and magical that happens to other people… I have no idea how to acquire one myself.
Fiction sooo different to poetry and non-fiction. I think I’m chronically lacking in imagination. Even as a child, when we had to write stories in school, I either plagiarised the plots from other stories (usually Enid Blyton – I would change the fairies to elves or something) or wrote stories about how my parents and I walked up Mt Tarawera, complete with illustrations.
We have several writing exercises to do each week, and I spend most of the week staring at an empty page and getting more and more terrified. This week we’re doing stories which are made up entirely of dialogue. Like plot, dialogue is a device that scares me. Along with character development. And pretty much everything that differentiates fiction from poetry.
So why, you ask, why am I doing a fiction writing workshop? I have no idea. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Insert intelligent and entertaining political rant here _____________
I’d really like to write something informative and intellectually stimulating and topical, but, well, I feel like shit and I think my brain may have frozen over.
Nevermind eprops, what I really need is hot lemon drinks and flowers and plenty of sympathy.
And tomorrow I have to meet with the manager and the team leader of the respite house, which is scary.
Think I should go to bed now.
Posted by Fionnaigh at April 1, 2003 10:52 AMno flowers or hot lemony drinks. i do have sympathy, and i just talked to the Goddess of Plot, and she said she'd go visit you to give you the Gift of Plot. "how will she know she's got the Gift?" i asked. "she won't, but she'll have it just the same," was the reply.
so relax, girl. you're covered.
Posted by: polaroid at April 14, 2003 11:16 AM@)--->---- flower.
~~~
[_]D hot lemony drink.
<3 sympathy.
um... and i'm a geek.
Posted by: thinkingamerican at April 14, 2003 11:17 AMhun, you are not lacking imagination ...jus read you r blogs :) and I think plot just developes as the story goes...what i mean is i don't think writers work out a plot first then write the story.
oh and I was selling mysel (not my partner), body mind and soul muahahaha!