WHY DO I WRITE?
For the record I'm on the left [or is it the right?] of the picture. Jan uses a phrase including "old" and "goat"
Sometimes at the most inappropriate moment my mind slides into fantasy (or fiction). I'm sure you know what I mean.
For instance I may be sitting with a group of people at the Pukeko Junction listening and
appreciating good wine, admiring the knowledge and enthusiasm of the speaker who is from one of the many local vineyards [and if the truth were told feeling a little envious].
Then, despite the good company, good
wine and interesting spiel my mind wanders away in the direction of a plot for a crime story.
Titles flash in front of my eyes -
"Death by Pinot Noir" - "A Vintage Death"
- or a little suggestive - "A Pressing Affair" - "Fermenting Bodies" - "The Vintner's Bad Luck" - with apologies to Elizabeth Knox.
Back to sniffing and sipping the Pinot Gris or Noir or Cabernet, but then again
off that damn imagination trots [blame the quality of the wine].
Scene of the crime - surely not in a vat of fermenting grapes? No, sacrilege.
How about in a new hitherto
virgin part of the vineyard recently purchased because it faced North and the soil was chalky or limestony - or the slope was right.
Is it a body? Male or female? Known or unknown? Loved or hated?
Maybe hidden under a heavy undergrowth.
Not hidden, buried.
Not a body, a cadaver. Who is it? How did he/she get there. How long had he/she
been laying there? If it's a long time ago can we bring in some local history. I've wanted to write a story about Mr Asia.
Jan nudges me, brings me back to the present, she's driving so I happily finish off the
Pinot Gris, Noir or Cabernet, and I listen to more stories around vintage - perhaps a twist to that centuries-old skill of the vintner.
But the seeds have been sown in my head.
Time to return home, sleep will be difficult because of that body/cadaver found on a hillside somewhere in North Canterbury/Marlborough/Otaga.
But I need a collaborator.
WHY DO I WRITE? I asked this question a few weeks ago, the above post may help to explain.
CONFESSIONS OF A FAILED TECHNOCRAT
Twenty thirteen has been a traumatic year so far, but Marylyn has helped. SHE LIVES!
baby [metaphorically speaking] was ready to venture forth into the wide world.
SECONDLY writing is my hobby but unlike the River it does not rule my life.
THIRDLY marketing isn't.
Writing ingratiating letters to unresponsive agents and publishers is not my forte
either. I've done my dash with those. Although I found publishers anxious to take the money first.
Going independent was the answer - so I thought.
The FOURTH challenge was, and remains, technology. If I played cricket against Technology I'd lose by an innings.
A hobby is something to enjoy and relax with. I spent hours of frustration and non enjoyment formatting my beloved text for Smashwords
(the man said hours - I say days) Kindle and Kobo, and even for the print version. Twenty-first century instructions falling on the stony ground of a Twentieth century man. Leaving me mentally exhausted.
OOPS I forgot number FIVE "Free" Websites. Hours spent trying to understand how
to set it up. Initially believing the "experts" gobbledygook over the simplicity of it all.
A RARE FEW DAYS OF SUCCESS when I began receiving hundreds of responses
to my website - responses, not sales. Then finding that it was all the result a malware infection - quoted hundreds of dollars to wash it away. So I cancelled the site.
site is basic but still it is twenty-first century mentality against twentieth century understanding.
TO ANSWER THE QUESTION - I write because writing gives me utter freedom.
A blank sheet of paper is a challenge. On it I can do anything. I can love, make love, hate, rape, pillage, laugh, cry, grieve, celebrate.
HOPE TO ENTERTAIN
If you are still with me, for your patience FOR THE FIRST TEN ORDERS for THE CHARITY - I will give you, yes give you - free - gratis a copy of my first Novel THE CONVENTION.
CONTACT ME VIA THIS WEBSITE.
Note to Agents and Publishers I didn't really mean to upset you, please contact me.