Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? How about this: Hell hath no fury like a writer stopped from writing. Or submitting.
Last week was not pretty but I did manage to get my submission in, by the skin of my teeth. Thank you so much everyone for putting up with me, raving loon that I was and moaner to just a few, although it was poor Hubby who bore the brunt of his crazed wife at the end of her tether.
I almost lost my entry when I tried to copy and paste it on the competition website: I had problems with the formatting and accidentally clicked the ‘delete’ button. Thankfully, there was a ‘Are you sure you want to delete’ box which saved me from losing it entirely – in more ways than one.
But this experience has left me thinking: if this what it’s like to write and submit a memoir piece for a competition, what on earth will it be like to get to the point of finishing and then submitting the manuscript for my book? Will my marriage survive? Will my kids still love me? Will my cats ever come near me again? Will my friends desert me?
Seriously though (and putting computer problems aside), writing does something to writers: it makes us crazier than a box of frogs. Or is that cleverer than a bag of snakes? Oh wait, that’s what Hilary Mantel said about Anne Boleyn during an interview about her book ‘Wolf Hall‘.
Speaking of which, have any of you been watching ‘Wolf Hall’? It’s the best thing on television, I’d say. I was given the book a few years ago by Eldest Son and I admit that I found the read hard going – difficulty with a lack of speech marks – but the delicious nuances from the book carry over to the TV production brilliantly.
My lovely mum was sufficiently concerned about me last week to send a text asking what I thought of a quote she came across, written by Joanne Harris, the author of the book ‘Chocolat‘,
‘The process of writing is a little like madness, a kind of possession not altogether benign.’
Do you think she was trying to tell me something?
Welcome to the Jungle – That’s what blasted through the headphones of my iPod this morning while out walking. A great way to blow off steam but I found some writing inspiration too, thanks to Guns ‘N’ Roses, for Charli’s flash fiction prompt of ‘disorientation‘ this week.
Borrowing the song’s title, here is my flash, in 99 words, no more, no less:
Welcome To The Jungle
“C’mon Trudi, don’t be a spoil-sport,’ whined Carla. “We’ll have a blast!”
Trudi peered inside. “But it’s late…”
Grabbing Trudi’s hand, Carla marched her through the door as heads swiveled.
Trudi staggered across the room, strobe lights searing her vision, heavy base pounding in her chest. “I can’t…see…” She reached for the nearest chair and missed, collapsing on the floor.
“What the hell Jake, why did you give her that pill?” Carla seethed as she dialled for the ambulance.
Jake looked down as Trudi vomited on his boots and passed out.