There be Pademelons …

Lots of people seem to want to know how an author goes about writing a work of fiction. Why they would want to penetrate the black arts is beyond me. But I shall oblige them.

Where Pademelons Play took me about 5 years to write, excusing the odd bit of dabbling done prior to this. I started with the embryonic idea that events in life happen more by chance than by human design.

So I began at the beginning and kept going. I do not suffer from writers’ block for one very good reason: I never imagine what I write will be final. I might write stuff for a few days, let my mind churn for a very days, and then edit heavily. I have no regrets about jettisoned material. Easy come, easy go. I don’t sweat the stuff I have rejected.

Plans on paper do not work for me. In the course of writing, I might stop and jot down about six bullet points to plot what to do next. As often as not I will ignore these points, because the stuff going on in my head is more important than them. The points merely serve to jolt my recalcitrant mind.

Other things that get my recalcitrant mind going are: reading published fiction by other people, walking on the beach, listening to music, and relaxing on my chaise with a drink.

Having finished WPP, I find myself at a loose end. I miss my characters as if they were real people. I even fell in love with one of my female characters. Read the book and see if you can guess which one.