So far so good.

Third time I write, and it's going good so far. It's about 4 in the morning here and I'm listening to a wonderful band called London Grammar (fully aware of the irony). I'm preparing for tomorrow. Tomorrow is Wednesday, well. I call it tomorrow because I haven't slept yet. Not entirely sure if I will yet either. But it won't be tomorrow before it's light outside for me. So at 13:00 I will meet my father for coffee at a place not far from where I live. Since may of this year 2016, we've had these meetings once a week at 13:00. To me it has been an immense help for my writing process. We talk about everything from heaven and earth, mostly we try to focus on things that are relevant to the book I'm writing and oddly enough. Most things are relevant. It's a good feeling to be able to air ot ideas and learn new things about a certain subject or idea. Somehow in these meetings I am able to formulate an idea, run it by my father and be able to see it clearly.

My father and I have been... estranged, for the most part of my life. By all accounts he hasn't been much of a father to me. I was angry at him for a very long time but I realised there is no actual point in anger over a long time. I mean sure, if someone bumps into you on the street making you spill the entire contents of your bag all over the pavement and then yells at you to watch where you're going when it was his or her fault. Then anger is good. It tells you that there is an injustice in progress and you won't be stepped on. But as far as anger over things that happened in the past goes, anger isn't useful. If anything it's a hinderance. At least in my opinion. So I reached out to my father. I knew he had intimate knowledge of a lot of things I was now writing about. So I thought, why not take advantage of that knowledge if he's willing to give it. And he was, and I am now the richer for it.

So here we are in August. These past 3 months have been very helpful to me and I'm proud to say I've been able to write my prologue and most of three chapters. I have the baseline and structure for how the book will work. The story however is a different matter. The story seems to be running a little bit on it's own accord. I write the words but the words guide me to what will really be happening. For instance, I had this character that I was absolutely sure would lead my main character to a conclusion that was important for the progress. But... She didn't. I sat there after writing this with a distinct feeling of "what the f..." but in the end it turned out to be the best for the story anyway. And so I'm often taken by surprise with what my mind comes up with. If I have a muse I would very much like to thank her. I realise that statement might be full of my own hubris, but I think I'm confident enough in my own work by now to say it's not, shit.

So, I'm preparing for tomorrow. Gathering my books and the copious amounts of loose worksheets where's I've scribbled something that's evidently important. Not to mention post-it notes. I found a couple in my bathroom a while ago that I had written while half asleep. It made me laugh when I read them. To any one who's not me, this wouldn't make even a little sense. I often giggle slightly at the thought that if anyone were ever to find me with my little "tower of pisa" notebook and flip through it I'd be committed. I have always had a love affair with words and how things fit together on a page. This notebook is basically a gathering of my thoughts on what I'm writing at the moment. Which I would imagine most writers notebooks are. It might the the one most private and sensitive possession we have apart from our minds. And I love it.

Lately I've started to ask my friends if they will read through what I've written so far. To get feedback and be sure that I'm making myself understood and that what I'm writing translates the way I want it to. For the "message" to get through etc. It was sort of a shock to hear from these people that they find it enganging and want to know more. When I've been a member here for two weeks I have the choice to put my own things up for other members of this site to read. This makes me more worried. On one side because of what I said in an earlier blog entry, the first one. That I'm paranoid that my ideas might get stolen. I realise that's a little silly, but it's still a worry. On the other side. The people who will be reading this don't know me, there's no incentive for them to read it apart from it well... being here. So of course all of these scary thoughts pop into my head. What if they just focus on the grammar, and not the actual content. What if no one likes it. So on and so forth. Of course I know that this is inevitable, if I want to be a successful writer then I'm gonna have to share my work. There will be people that will hate it, there might be people who will love it and everyone is a critic. And most of the people who might read my book, will not know me. Of course this inspires the concideration of wether or not I should use my own name as my pen name or if I should use a pseudonym. I've never really liked the idea of being a known person. It seems a massive invasion of privacy wether you accept it or not. This is all speculation and if's, maybe's and possibly's. But one can't help but wonder...

In conclusion... I'm looking forward to tomorrow. Our meetings has been put on hold for about three weeks as it's holiday season in little Norway. So of course when it's finally warm for two months in Norway all the Norwegians flee the country to go to places like Spain, Grand Canaria and Key Largo. My father took one such trip, I'm happy he's back so we can resume our meetings. Now it's about 5 in the morning and I'll continue transcribing some of my notes into my computer so I can hand them off for others to read.

Until next time. Eaveah.