Taking control – that’s a joke!

I believe it is suggested that one reason authors write is to take control of someone else’s life, be the mastermind or god figure in a way that is not possible in their own.

As I watch builders taking apart a roof which I can view from my writing perch, fixing weatherproof material, fastening swathes of heavy plastic with wooden battens and nails to temporarily keep out the wet, grappling with lead guttering, old tiles removed, perched on scaffolding and scary ladders, I feel a kinship.

It’s tricky footwork, taking down and putting up, the possibility of the whole falling apart, failure. No smooth flow of ideas into intriguing and believable plot, or characters following my lead to say and do what I think fit, it’s hard slog. Up and down rungs of hope, lines of thought struggling for the right words, metaphors rigged to become cliches, character’s refusal to remain emotionally involved.

And, of course, it isn’t all about my control of what characters do and say, it’s how much my reader wants to overhear, to enter into their dilemma and anxieties. At what point will boredom or disbelief take over?

 

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