Zero to Hero today challenged us to write the First Blog, the one we thought of when we started our blogs. I don’t have one of those. I was worried that I was doing it wrong, but I took the wise decision of reading before I started writing, and discovered that The Writing Catalogue and The Flibberatic Skeebles didn’t have that proto-post either. I wasn’t alone. That’s a good start.
I suppose I did have a post I wanted to write, but that’s the “OMG I sold a book!” post, which I can’t write yet because I haven’t even finished a book yet. The editing is still waiting for me.The point of starting a blog was, rather than the posts, the comments. I love a community, especially a writing community. When I lived in York I had an amazing writing group in the NaNoWriMo peeps, who congregated in a cafe in the historic Shambles, drank tea and ate cake, complained about our characters and, ever so occasionally, wrote things. During November we wrote all the time, but we met for the rest of the year as well and had a break from writing and work and families with people who understood that writing was not an optional part of that balance.
And then I moved away, and I left them behind. I came home, and now I have to bite my tongue when my mum completely ignores anything I say about writing, and every time she suggests I get a job neither of us wants. My brother gets it, a bit, but he’s a scientist and engaged, and doesn’t have much time for his big sister’s flights of romantic fancy.
What I want to do with this blog is find people who understand. I’d like to find people who write fantasy and gay romance and occasionally smash the two together, gleefully, at high speeds, and watch either world or people fall apart. (It’s usually the people. I build my worlds well, and my people always have some fairly major flaws and fragilities.) I’d like to find people who sometimes want to put the manuscript down and talk about the best way to make a cup of tea, and then pick it up again and argue about the likelihood of a matriarchy in a world where the gods pop in for the aforementioned cup of tea.
Writing is, I’m told, a solitary effort. In my experience, it’s at its best when it isn’t. Now, more than ever before, writing can be a life of a thousand candles, burning at both ends, each lighting their own little area but all lighting together.
One day, I’ll get to write that celebratory post, and then another and another and another. For now, though, I’ll just keep my little candle burning.