All through my writing life I've demanded silence. A quiet house with no-one in it but me. The only sound the tapping of the keyboard or the bashing of my head against the wall. I shun the radio, turn off the TV. I have found the way I write. It needs to be quiet...
... until it wasn't any more.
This week I've been fully focused on writing a short story for a national competition. It's a story that features a world-famous singer and the narrative revolves around four of the fans. On the surface the story is fun. But read deeper, between the lines and you'll find the undertone mournful, one of loss.
While I've been writing it, I needed to feel mournful too. I needed something to give me, as the modern parlance goes, all the feels.
I've got a box set of hits from the singer who features in my story. I stuck on the CD. There was one particular song I was waiting for and when it began I rode the wave of emotion. I listened to the words and the tune, the voice and the drums. I could see the singer on stage, playing to thousands in an arena, to millions more on TV. I typed. The song hit me in my heart, right there, just as I knew it would.
Could I... should I... weave the song into the story? Dear reader, I did. And I believe my story is all the better for it. I'm not finished with it yet. There are still a few weeks before the deadline in which I'll refine my story until every single word earns its place. Not until then will I let it leave home.
And now I've got a dilemma. Knowing I can not only write to background music, but incorporate it into my work, it's made me realise I'm not the writer I thought I was.
Will I ever write in silence again?
Debut novel Belle of the Back Streets
Now out in hardback, audiobook and e-book
Now out in hardback, audiobook and e-book
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