‘Sup?

Good weekend moonbeams?

Me? Oh, you know,  movies, writing, cleaning, teenagers, parties.

Have you seen Limitless? It’s not bad. Robert De Niro’s best work in a long time. So much so I forgot it was RDN and just enjoyed the character. Bradley Cooper was good, solid and handsome. Abbie Cornish (Pastie) was ok but it didn’t matter. The movie wasn’t about her. They could have actually lost the love interest in the story, not really important but whatever.

The central idea of the story is the drug, NZT, that enables you to use your whole brain and recalls any information you have stored over time. The voiceover says it best.

What was this drug? I couldn’t stay messy on it. I hadn’t had a cigarette in six hours. Hadn’t eaten. So abstemious and tidy. What was this? A drug for people who wanted to me more anal retentive. I wasn’t high. I wasn’t wired. Just clear. I knew what I needed to do and how to do it.

Jesus christ, how I wish I could access that within me. It takes an enormous amount of energy to get focussed after an illness I had a while back. The only way I can get my shit together is to write lists and work through it, item by item.

What I can do without prompt is write. I could write all day and often do, break to be a parent and back at it again at night. My agent says I am very fast writer. Perhaps I am but last week I kept a time sheet for my writing. I did 56 hours of writing words, editing and planning. It is a necessity for my sanity and to meet my deadlines.

Based on the Malcolm Gladwell theory that to become a master at anything we must put in 10,000 hours of practise, with my current schedule of writing, I should be a master in about five years. Ha!

Someone asked me on Twitter last week they should give up their dream of writing. My answer was a mashup of two quotes that resonated with me: Write then write and let the writing be the reward. Write because you must. 

If you think you should give up, then maybe you shouldn’t do it. If what you want to do feeds your soul at a visceral level then go with it, you are doing the right thing. I am always surprised at how much I don’t know about this industry. I don’t go to literary events or hang with writers: wingeing about publishers, royalties and agents. I don’t read the prize winning books, I read what I like, I write what I like. I watch shiteous TV and romcom movies are my favorites. When my agent and I drank Billiecart to celebrate my first book deal, she said to me “Don’t ever expect to be invited to a literary festival.” I had never been to a literary festival before that anyway and it made me laugh. Still does. I get it though, I am a commercial fiction writer, which is apparently akin to the romcoms of literature. It’s akin to having the newest Richard Curtis film, starring Hugh Grant, open Cannes.

What is astonishing is how few people will admit to reading commercial literature. Someone must be reading it though, ‘cos that genre is taking up alot of shelf space in my library. Sometimes, I try to get my daughter to read “literary” fiction and she screws her nose up at it and kind of I admire her for being honest to what she loves. She doesn’t care about prizes, just plot.

Wow, I am on a tangent. Did I have a point?

Um… Maybe just be true to yourself. Practise. Read what you love. Write what you love. Watch what you love. Cook what you love. Love what you love. That’s it.

Ok. I’m off down the rabbit hole to write.

 

Later Moonbeams.

 

 

 

 

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