I am taking a class, in creative writing. These days you can sit in your sofa, in your home, and do that. I meet the teacher, and the other students in a band of small squares at the top of the screen of my computer. The teacher talks to us, his voice is clear but somewhat slow. He shares his PowerPoints. It’s more interesting than it sounds, surprisingly enough. He gives us tasks to do. The last was to read certain pages in the book and answer questions he posted, I wrote:

Do I recognize the process of writing described in the book?

Yes and no. When I have decided to start a new writing project it is because an idea, a theme, has grown in me for some time. I know what I want to research and I think I know how the framing should look. The start, and maybe the ending , is pretty clear to me, but the road in between windy and uneven. And exciting. The characters are definitely there, but will develop, deepen, in the meeting with each other.

I start writing, but use as much energy, if not more, collecting pictures, texts, news, ideas, quotations – anything that seems to have, or possibly might have, something to do with my investigation and building the project. Eventually the writing takes over. And then a first sketch of a manuscript seems to materialize. Next comes the last stage: reading through, rewrite, change, cut, add. Try to get respons. Sleep on it

Now, it has become part of me and has to be finished. The characters live inside me, they have became my imaginary friends, they need to meet others. My theme is researched. The excavation is done. Only readers need to be added. It has to be finished. Last page must be written. Last period.

At that point I don’t read any other novels. The literary language of others bothers me. But I watch series, interviews, read articles, stuff like that.

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Am I my worst critic? Yes and no. Heaven and hell. But I can no longer abandon my story, the work has to come to an end even if it at times feeels impossible. Sometimes I take a break. Sometimes I wake up long before sunrise and know exactly what next step is and sneak up to make coffee.

What is my focus? That the investigation gets finished, the story sewn together, holds together, leads forward. Now it has to meet others. Readers are important.

For many years I worked as a visual artist. I don’t think the difference is big. Not at all.vBut the outcome, a series of pictures, doesn’t have have the same clear beginning and end. For good and for bad.

To do, page 35: put your self in a new and uncomfortable situation, and write about it…Ok, that I do as often as I can. The latest involved driving the freeway all the way from Malaga to Tangier even though I wouldn’t dare. I will write about it…the only thing I can say now is that ‘I managed to drive to Tarifa! I got there in time. I made the boat trip. Tangiers greeted me with wonderful weather and life is great.’