Two hours, fifty-five minutes and
counting. By my reckoning I should be able to file this blog at midnight. I
wrote 1200 words in 90 minutes the other evening between 9pm and 11pm. But I
won’t write even 500 words now unless I can go into the bubble.
The bubble is a quiet place. It’s a
soothing, yet dynamic space where the ideas and words appear exactly as you
need them. You don’t fight the words in the bubble. They plip into your consciousness
as if by magic. Ah yes, you think, as you type the words. Of course . . .
For me, the bubble appears in the
evening. When the day’s busy-ness recedes, when the business of eating is
complete and when I can find no other excuses – that’s when I sit down and
write the words that have eluded me all day, maybe all week. It is time to
write this chapter, I tell myself as I settle at my desk – and write it I will
before I go to sleep tonight.
And, somehow, I do. I may have faffed
about all day, but around 9pm my brain settles and the words begin to flow: because
that’s what happens in the bubble. The words come, one by one, the sentences
build and little by little the story emerges right in front of your eyes. You
find yourself writing a twist in the plot that you did not know was there until
the moment you press the keys. That’s a good idea, you think. I like that. I
wonder where it’s leading me? And, providing you don’t rush, providing you feel
the stillness around and inside you, providing that you trust the process – then the story will unfold. And, as it unfolds,
right before your eyes, you know it’s the story you were seeking all along. It
feels – like magic.
My bubble came as the snow fell; four
inches in the first night and the world transformed. For the next two weeks, I
watched as the snow deepened and the ice grew more deadly. Inside I was warm,
protected and quiet. Day by day I stayed inside my bubble and each day wrote a
new chapter. How my story would finally resolve I did not know, but, like a crossword
being pieced together and alert to the clues in front of my eyes, its
resolution suddenly became apparent.
Suddenly I was typing the words THE
END. Is that the best bit? I always laugh. It seems a surprise to finish a
story!
For a few hours, maybe days, you
smile. The feeling of elation remains even as you print out your story, do the
read-through, correct the typos and tighten pieces of writing here and there,
then print it out again.
Then, carefully, you place your
manuscript in a box file – and, as you do this, the elation recedes. Suddenly it
feels as if it has another life. This story is not just in your head or stored
on a file on your computer anymore, you realise, staring down at it. As you
close the lid on the box file you know that your story is already out there.
You get into the car and place the
box file on the seat beside you. Nobody has seen this story, you think,
glancing down at it as you find your way through the traffic. Nobody but me
knows what happens – but it has already gone, flown away. In a matter of
minutes you will hand the manuscript to your editor. This story that you have
owned, which did not exist until a few weeks ago has to find its own way in the
world.
You drive home feeling happy, but a
little empty. The bubble has faded. The house needs cleaning and you need a
walk, a good long walk. Over the course of the next week you find your mind
begins to empty of words. The mental clutter of life returns. But the bubble is
there, waiting.
Sheridan Winn is author of the Sprite Sister
stories.
She has just finished writing the 7th
title in the series,
Magic at Drysdale’s School.
http://www.sheridanwinn.com
