Writing is hard work.
I get asked when I first started writing. I used to think it was a breakthrough at uni. It wasn’t. I ploughed through my memory: I wrote my first illustrated novella at 6 about a dinosaur and the impending birth of her baby brother. I also wrote a French comic strip at 9.
Writing is found in different forms.
I spent countless hours daydreaming and creating worlds and dialogue for people I didn’t know but kinda, sorta did.
Writing is not always on paper.
I wrote countless scraps of stories that I deemed gobshite and threw away (as that was back in the day when we all worked with pen & paper as standard). I’ve written countless poems and songs; I am a writer. I just don’t feel like it. I don’t feel like it because I don’t think I’m very good so I get frightened.
Writing is scary.
The best writing I know is a process whereby you lay out your deepest, darkest thoughts and feelings about the world and hand them over for someone else to interrogate.
Writing is feeling naked.
I sat down with a dramaturg today and told him about me, my thoughts and my experiences.
Writing is cathartic.
In there, somewhere amongst the scribbles and the illegible scrawls, is the dog whistle that will help me unlock the play I’ve been working on for almost two years now. I feel like I’m getting closer to the seed of the play; I’m also getting closer to working out who I am as a writer.
Writing is a journey.
I currently have several project on the go so I need to focus. When an idea or a spark comes to mind, I need to start noting it down and putting it to one side, not go off on a tangent.
Writing is a war with many battles.
There is no magic secret to writing. It is a massive arseache at times. It has to become habitual for me and I need to start writing every day, without fail, but I wouldn’t have it any other way and there’s only one way to get better:
Writing is writing, and rewriting.