Pearls of Potential
I am fascinated by pearls. They are rare and beautiful prizes for those who put in the effort to seek them. I love the way they catch the light and glow. They are also the perfect metaphor for the process of writing. A pearl is formed when an irritant like a grain of sand gets inside the mollusk. To protect itself the mollusk wraps the irritant in layer upon layer of a substance called nacre or mother of pearl. For me, writing is about the spark which is then nurtured, developed, and edited over and over until l have a piece I am happy with. My pearls.
Not every idea or spark I have can become a story or a poem. There are notes in my ideas book that I have been so certain will make a great story that I haven’t been able to take forward. The plot doesn’t go anywhere or the characters aren’t strong enough so I put it aside. Neil Gaiman calls this the writer’s compost heap which I love because no idea is wasted. Then there are tiny grains of ideas that won’t leave me alone. Not quite enough to give me a plot outline but they refuse to be ignored. These fragments keep coming back to me revealing another layer of themselves. These are my pearls of potential and it is one such idea that I have decided to run with and write a novel.
Wait, what? A novel you say? Yes. Back in October I could not imagine sharing my writing with anyone. Yet I rock up here every week and pour my hopes and fears out to you. I am pushing the edges of my comfort zone week after week. I have been saying for 20 years that one day I’ll write a novel and the push I needed came unexpectedly. My son, with his preternatural ability to read what is in my heart, pointed out a book that had won a prize for a debut novel and said “That might be you next year Mum”. It was completely matter of fact, no doubt, no hesitation, and it made me stop and think.
Am I ready to write a novel? How do I write a novel? When am I going to fit this in?
Next came the self-doubt… I’m not good enough. I’ve only just started writing.
Followed swiftly by the excuses…I’m too busy and this will be hard.
My inner mean girl was in her element now and the only way to deal with her is a firm hand.
How, I wondered, did I imagine would know when I am ready? Would there be knock on the door one day from an agent of a secret society who congratulates me on now being deemed worthy? Would I be handed a guilded envelope containing my license to write a novel? Is there a shadowy council of writing critics who decide who is and isn’t ‘good enough’ to be a novelist? Nope, I’m pretty sure that isn’t how it works. I think I just have to work it out as I do it. I’ll either win or I will learn so there really is nothing to fear.
As I have said before I’m a firm believer in learning from others who are good at what you aspire to so I applied for a writing course. This course appeals to me because I will have a writing mentor who is themselves a published author and the end product will be the first 25, 000 words of my novel. It will keep me accountable and the deadlines will motivate me. I don’t need to have all the answers right now because that is what the course is for. To support me through it and to help me develop as a writer.
I have a world in which to set my story, I have a deadline to keep me motivated and I have a tiny grain of potential. Now begins the work of turning into a pearl.
