Words, words & more words

Where did all these words come from?
They're just bubbling up out of me lately.

I've heard that, when you're trying to find what to do with your life, you should ask "if money was never, ever a problem, ever again, what would I choose to do with my life?"
My answer is 'write'.

I love music, I can sing a little bit and I can paint and draw a little bit - and I hope to do a little bit more of both in my new life.
But if I never had to pay a bill again, I would write.
I especially realise that now, when I find myself writing letters, blogs, diary entries, fiction, poetry - and that's in addition to the writing I do for a living.

It's a hard goal to realise though.
The fact is, I'm researching all sorts of ways to improve and eventually publish my writing right now, and every single book I read has a big warning about 'writer's block' or, as we like to call it in the newspaper industry, 'faffing around until someone starts yelling at you'.
That's why deadlines are so fantastic.

We've had a couple of students win school awards for their volunteer work at the newspaper and each time they've been congratulated on working 'independently with minimal adult guidance'.
I've explained to the teachers that, firstly, we have a very effective filtering system for our student volunteers.
We only employ the ones who aren't scared by my interviewing spiel which usually goes "I'm going to give you a job, you're going to go do it and you're going to be required to get it right because not only will I read it, but so will everyone you know, including the person you talked to, and if you stuff it up or don't do it before deadline you will receive a midnight phone call from me and you will come into the office and do it then and you can explain to your parents why you're getting midnight phone calls from your boss".
The fear of being yelled at at the end of the day, is just as effective and much better time management than following someone around all day to make sure they get it right.

So, back to me - because, obviously, I'm the reason you're reading this big long-winded blog.
I'm a procrastinator - you know that because right now I'm supposed to be finishing a 24-page newspaper, my last one, possibly for ever.
And, writing fiction doesn't come with deadlines.
I'm going to have to set my own when I get to The Farm (as advised by one of my 'how to write a novel' books...what I should write is a book about how to write a book, there must be more people than just me buying them) an hour a day where I HAVE to write.
Shouldn't be hard - heaven knows my nights aren't full of excitement any more.

So, it's true, one door closes and another door opens.
My nights will no longer be filled with long chats, shoulder-to-shoulder TV-watching or hot sex - but there will be lots of time to become a famous and successful novellist.
When you think about that, though, it makes you wonder how David Eddings, Raymond E Feist and Stephen King managed to have anyone to dedicate their books to eh?