Flickering Lightbulbs on the Road to Damascus.

I've written some passable stories along with some half-decent blogs, but never before blogged about writing. This is probably because the machinations of my creative processes are a mystery, even to me, and a lot of the time I'm not really sure what I'm doing. That is especially true right now, with reference to my now-you-see-it-now-you-don't novel, Brockberrow.

            

        Brockberrow has been bugging me spasmodically for twelve years, the first draft reaching 66,000 words, but progress ceased about two years in when a well-meaning associate murmured, "It's amusing, but nothing ever happens,"  I sulked for a couple of years, then had a fresh look, cut out lots of crap and several characters, and ended up with just 25,000 relevant words, but although I had a plot outline right through to the finish, it stalled again. After two or three more false starts, I shrugged, curled my lip and shelved it in perpetuity, but one morning recently, in those surreal seconds between waking and actually becoming functional, I had a lightbulb moment, which I knew immediately would Change Everything.                                                                                                              

              It was suddenly obvious that two early chapters of Brockberrow, chapters that I regarded as priceless literary pearls, were completely irrelevant, and that Griswold, my main character, was a boring sod, although crucially, not sufficiently boring to the point where he ever became interesting. Griswold would have to completely re-invent himself if he wanted his contract renewed and the book would now also need a New Beginning. Imbued, now, with the zeal of the newly converted, I set about the task -  only to find three brand new opening chapters that I'd written twelve months ago, this following a Damascene experience, (same as a lightbulb moment, but experienced when fully conscious) during which it was revealed that I'd not started the book at its logical beginning and that All Would Be Well if I remedied that. 

            

           I'm not quite sure how I managed to disremember my Damascene experience, or the three(beautifully crafted) chapters, but at least it proves my earlier statement that a lot of the time I'm not really sure what I'm doing

           

          Still, all is not lost. My much loved chapters will edit down nicely to make a 4000 word short story and I've found a competition calling for entries that combine humorous with weird, three goes for a tenner. I have humorous and weird in my files in spades. What can possibly go wrong?