For years I've been toying with this idea, but each year got cold feet, (probably due to having moved to this freezing country where my feet are rarely warm), and never even tried. This year, I have had a lot of encouragement from an author called Katharine Grubb - who has succeeded in becoming a published author (Yes! I even read one of her books, and enjoyed it!) by - in her own words,- writing in 10 minute increments. She started a FB group called "10 Minute Novelists"and since I was so kindly invited to join it - I have been getting ínto the mood of writing again, and this time 'for real.'
I am scared to death that I will just write crap, that I won't make it past the first few days, that I will just write stuff that makes no sense, that if I write, it won't have a storyline and will not work as a first draft of a book, afraid that once written, it will stay on my hard drive, fearful of failure and rejection...
And what will I write about????
I have about 3 stories that I'd like to write, but they are all memoir style writing. However, a part of me wants to go for 'the real thing,' which I see as writing total fiction. As if memoir is not courageous enough... and making up a fiction character is somehow better...
So, today, on a chat of the 10 minute novelist Facebook page, Katharine encouraged us to time ourselves for 5 minutes and see how much we could write. This is what I accomplished... (totally unedited)... thoughts?
So, it’s going to be a fun vacation, she thought. Well, maybe fun, maybe not so fun. With the three boys and her husband, she always felt a little out of sorts. They always seemed a bit like aliens, compared to her. I mean, who bikes 120 km to get to vacation, esp when you can bike the whole time you are there. Rent bikes when you’re there. Anyway, they decided to bike, and she took the car. That’s’what they usually did.
It was early evening and they were all sitting at a beautiful café on the beach. It was chilly, but a hot fire warmed the bench and her legs, while she looked at her good looking husband, holding a small cigar between his thumb and forefinger and puffed at it contently. All the boys looked like him. None of them had her red hair nor delicate features. Oh well, it was still good that they could spend the vacations together, she thought.
“No it’s not.’ She looked around but saw no one near by.Certainly no one who could have known what she was thinking.
“it’s not really so fun, admit it.” Ok, so this was true. It would be nice to take a vacation with a girlfriend, or her sister maybe, if her sister didn’t live so far away.
But who was talking? It sounded strange, but really, there was no one. And she didn’t think she was hearing voices.
“It‘s me, “said a voice just under her elbow. It was a black raven.