Our editor, Annabelle Carvell has embarked on a new journey in her own writing. Be part of this journey with her, and follow her updates on the Synaesthesia Blog! @AnnabelleCsyn
I
have taken on a new challenge: the novella. I'm not entirely sure whether or not it is one that I will conquer and complete, but for now I'm happy to see where it leads me.
The journey and evolving of my writing has been strange – I began as being more compelled to write poetry. In all honesty, I think it was partly through laziness and fear of writing anything longer than ten lines. I enjoyed the short space I was allowed on the page, and the crisp abstract images woven with hints of something bigger.
Throughout my degree, this slowly shifted – eventually I was ‘sold’ by the short story and how a world could be captivated in such a small space, with such little (but strikingly poignant) change. Whilst I was unemployed, all I could write (and wanted to write) were short stories – the odd poem popped up here and there, but my energy was fully thrust into a short story collection.
To explain a little about my rigid writing style, I very rarely write something that starts off as a poem or a short story, and then moulds itself into something different. Usually, if I set out to write a poem, it stays a poem. My focus doesn’t shift; my writer’s mind is fixated on that form and never wavers.
A while ago, I had begun to write another short story. A short story that burned with fiery marigolds and salty kisses. I had the whole story saved on my mind’s hard drive, but the space was the equivalent to the core of an apple. Its flesh was only just enough to encase the seeds, yet carried weighty backstory – exactly how I liked my short stories, scratching the surface just enough to reveal worlds beneath.
However, something stalled me writing this particular short story. Generally, whenever I write in the short story form it flows freely; I tend to write short stories in either one go during the course of an intensive writing day, or in two or three chunks. Yet this particular story would not budge.
I don't know why, but it clicked that this tale needed more – the flesh around the seeds needed to grow into a full, ripe apple. So now, I have dedicated my time and efforts into something new, something daunting but incredibly exciting.
These blog posts, I hope, will help me to maintain my momentum, and shall follow my endeavours to write in an alien form; the novella.
The journey and evolving of my writing has been strange – I began as being more compelled to write poetry. In all honesty, I think it was partly through laziness and fear of writing anything longer than ten lines. I enjoyed the short space I was allowed on the page, and the crisp abstract images woven with hints of something bigger.
Throughout my degree, this slowly shifted – eventually I was ‘sold’ by the short story and how a world could be captivated in such a small space, with such little (but strikingly poignant) change. Whilst I was unemployed, all I could write (and wanted to write) were short stories – the odd poem popped up here and there, but my energy was fully thrust into a short story collection.
To explain a little about my rigid writing style, I very rarely write something that starts off as a poem or a short story, and then moulds itself into something different. Usually, if I set out to write a poem, it stays a poem. My focus doesn’t shift; my writer’s mind is fixated on that form and never wavers.
A while ago, I had begun to write another short story. A short story that burned with fiery marigolds and salty kisses. I had the whole story saved on my mind’s hard drive, but the space was the equivalent to the core of an apple. Its flesh was only just enough to encase the seeds, yet carried weighty backstory – exactly how I liked my short stories, scratching the surface just enough to reveal worlds beneath.
However, something stalled me writing this particular short story. Generally, whenever I write in the short story form it flows freely; I tend to write short stories in either one go during the course of an intensive writing day, or in two or three chunks. Yet this particular story would not budge.
I don't know why, but it clicked that this tale needed more – the flesh around the seeds needed to grow into a full, ripe apple. So now, I have dedicated my time and efforts into something new, something daunting but incredibly exciting.
These blog posts, I hope, will help me to maintain my momentum, and shall follow my endeavours to write in an alien form; the novella.
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