After a hiatus of about 8 years, I’ve started writing again.

Now, I should say that in that 8 years I’ve had 10 short stories published.  And while I would never, ever discount my Doctor Who and Benny work, the fact is I wrote those stories to contract and deadline.  In all the cases I was provided with the hook, and in some of the cases I was even given the broad brush strokes of plot and character by the editor.  And there’s nothing wrong with that.  Writing for Big Finish really helped my writing in general.  It taught me to write tight and mean.  It taught me how to convey world building and action and plot in only a few thousand words.  And best of all, due to the wonderful editors I worked with, it allowed me to innovate and experiment.

So only good came from the experience.

But I’m really getting all exciting and juiced up writing my own stuff.  Of course, I have to tread carefully here.  Writing, for me anyway, is a fragile, whispy little thing.  It’s like fairy floss or clouds or my thinning hair.  And I’m scared if I talk about it too much, my creative compulsion will vanish.  Especially like my hair.

The paradoxical thing about writing is that when you do get excited about it you want to tell everyone.  And not just the fact you’re writing.  You wanna tell people what you’re writing about.  Even people who don’t actually care, and whose eyes glaze over when you start rambling on about how the book your writing is all about this group of colonists who crashland on a planet populated by dragons, sex starved vampires and the Australian Tax Office.  ‘How quirky is that!’  You remark, only to feel all let down crestfallen when the person you’re talking to stifles a yawn.

And that’s what kills the story dead cold.  That looks on people’s face when you tell them what you’re working on.  Because no matter how genius the idea – 9/10 it’s gonna sound like the ravings of a lunatic.  And once the confidence goes, the whole writing escapade become a hollow and meaningless process.

So other than this post – which I probably shouldn’t be writing, but I can’t help myself – I’m trying to keep my writing thoughts and my writing excitement to myself.  Let the renewed fizz and pop of wanting to tell stories translate on the page.

Of course, I’ll shout from the rafters if one of these stories get published (and at the moment, I’ve only just started my first, nibbling away at the corners as I try and write 500 words a day).  And then I’ll make sure to bore you to tears with the process.  

But right now, I’m keeping the genie in the bottle.