For the past two months I’ve mostly been writing in my head and generally producing some delightfully trashy stuff that I might not ever bother to download onto paper. When I’m in one of these moods though, I do often – usually on a train – longhand whatever scene is playing out in my head. I do this particularly if I’m having trouble concentrating on the scene and want to get through it before I have to rejoin the functional real-world of work and grocery shopping, because otherwise it tends to bother me.
In practical terms though, this means I have disjointed fragments of story in my notebooks. It’s often quite entertaining to try to make sense of them after any time has passed, because there’s so little in any one scene that it can be hard to string it together.
Funnily enough when I read back over these weird, related yet discontinuous snippets of novel I have a deep fondness for them. I suspect that, because I don’t go through the rather more tense phases of writing with these stories, I just remember how much I liked the story or the characters and how much fun it was to “write” them!