Following on from the last post……
I went on to expose myself in a public place. Not that I whipped off my old lady clothes and ran down the street naked, no, it was worse than that.
This novel of mine has been rumbling on for years and I have made vague comments about it, to my closest friends. It’s like one of those endless scarves you knit as a child, or was that just me?
Friends know you are doing it, and occasionally ask how it’s going, but it’s the not the most riveting of topics.
I decided to use strangers as my guinea pigs, before inflicting my work on friends. Wise decision, as it turned out, as I was mauled.
The stitches of my scarf unravelled as they pulled it apart line by line. My precious bits of prose were decimated, my characters pilloried.
They made me see it with fresh eyes and they were all so right. Six critiques so far and they have all found different holes and errors.
I have completely revised the first chapter, the experience has been invaluable. My knitting needles have been adjusted.
It’s all there on Scribophile. If you are not familiar with the site, I fervently recommend it. You gain points by critiquing other works and when you have sufficient, you post your darlings and wait for the fall out. It’s brilliant. If you already subscribe, or decide to join, say hello to me on there.
There comes a time for us fledgling authors to take a leap into the unknown and show our writing to a willing victim.
For someone who’s aim is to take the publishing world by storm, (in your dreams, girl), I have been strangely reluctant to do so.
I can only attribute this to basic insecurity. But is that not the trait of us all, despite the bluster we muster?
We are all beasts of contradiction. My ego is as big as a house, disguised under a layer of self deprecation, but at the same time, perhaps I am nothing special and will fail to sparkle.
What if my writing is no good, or worse, is actively bad? My ego tells me it compares favourably with works in my genre. Reality says, ‘Think again, hot shot.’
I have shown no-one my fiction so far, even though I am on chapter 19. It’s time to take that leap though, as I need to know my weaknesses, shatter those delusions and move forward to conquer.
One thing I’ve learnt today on WordPress.com, don’t post on a morning. I’m new here and have got to admit that followers are not flocking, but absolute zero reads this morning. It’s either all owls out there or the early birds don’t care for my worms.
Hats off to those who blog about writing and make it both interesting and relevant. What a challenge that is. If I ever finish my novel, there may be something to contribute, but until then, It’s just going to be the odd limerick or two.
Continuing the theme of confection, here we go…
A greedy boy loved bubblegum
Until it got stuck in his tum
He fell to his knees
Gave one mighty squeeze
And it shot right out of his bum
A young lady loved walnut whips
But they only lasted two licks
As she opened her jaw
All the men were in awe
And said, “does she do other tricks?”
I’ve moved on from sheep and cows to the hazards of sweets.
There was a girl who Stole sweets
And hid them inside her sheets
One morning she woke
And this is no joke
Her hair was stuck to her feets
Blow Up Rhoda
There was a young girl named Rhoda
Who loved American Soda
She emitted a cough
Got lost in the froth
That soda it did implode her
Pips On Her Hips
A young lady ate sherbet pips
With no thought at all to her hips
A mouth of decay
Was soon on its way
And now she’s the size of two ships