A Selfless Art

Earlier this week, I spent several hours going through a jumble of old drafts and notebooks, combining them into a single document. It was instructive. First, I realised that I have written a lot: almost 80,000 words, substantially more than A Restless Art, and far more than I expected to find. Next, it was evident that only a small part of it is useable. It’s scarred by my chaotic thinking at the time. Still, there is plenty to work on, and I can see more clearly the book I’ve been trying to write.

It’s allowed me to sketch a route map, so I have a new structure – 10 chapters rather than five – and a better way of telling the story. Most importantly, I might have found the voice, tone and style of this book. Everything I write is recognisably mine, at least so it seems to me, but also different, particular to the text’s purpose and to me at the time of its composition. Writing about my thinking here helps me identify each book’s voice.

And a last thought: I have begun to enjoy writing this, version seven in my irregular numbering. That’s always a good sign, and makes me hopeful it might eventually be enjoyable to read.