remotefiction

Wednesday Night Writing Night

Last night was writing night. Regardless of everything else that’s going on, Wednesday night is always writing night. Sure I need to find more time, steal time on other nights, but Wednesday night is a constant as much as it can be. What works for people varies. For some people they need to lock themselves away at home, in a silent room. Some need to crank the music as inspiration or shield from everything. With the world of blogging and twitter, we can see how many professionals find themselves in a coffee shop to work.

Over the years I have had various friends who were writers, many of whom I have met through doing things like NaNoWriMo. One thing that works for a number of us, is to meet once a week and work together. The group offers the discipline of focus, of making a deliberate time, and knowing that other people are also writing. It becomes a support group, some of us share work, we all offer encouragement, and what advice we can.

We meet after work. Those who want to meet, have dinner, then we all get together in the library, where we sit with our laptops for a couple of hours and work away. Sure I’d probably prefer a coffee shop myself, mug of coffee and laptop sounding proper, but suspect I’d find distractions more frequently that way. Having said that, some weeks are more productive than others, just as some aspects of writing are easier than others.

Last night I was editing, coming back to a piece again, after some feedback, after a disastrous previous attempt to edit. On the one hand, I’m pleased, the piece wasn’t in as bad shape as I feared (at least I’m nominally happy with it in that what do I know sense), so making a few minor changes was easy enough. Except that I haven’t slept well this week, and in the library silence had to fight to stay awake, before hitting the hard bit. The end. Someone told me the end was obvious, someone else told me it was fine. I’ve written another 6 alternative endings, and have gone a little draft crazy – which is the one that works? I have a theory on that, but I have to massage that whole last scene I suspect, and that wasn’t happening last night.

Afterwards, we ended up back in the pub next to the library, and while everyone else watched the TV, drew lines between them along the old firm divisions, and shouted and cheered, we compared notes of how it had been a hard night for us all.