Wordsmithing: passion drive determination and hope

Thursday, 15 April 2010

Eight? I'm nearly at 100!

Dizzy with the realisation that with just eight more Followers I'd hit the magic 100, I wanted to post how pleased I am people stop by to read my thoughts about life and writing - not necessarily in that order. And I am thrilled.

I went looking for an image which summed up how I felt about the journey to writing. I found so much more than that. Richard St John is obviously a very wise man: he identified eight traits that lead to success.If you love this image as much as I do you'll be glad to know free downloadable images, in a range of formats, are available on Richard's Blog.

Whenever I'm presented with rules I like to look for the greatest amongst them, I have really struggled to pick just one of these traits as the greatest. After an internal monolgue I'm glad I don't have to type up, I selected Passion as my premier trait. I love reading - thought the power of the written word could not be surpassed - then I discovered the thrill of creating worlds and people to inhabit them, writing is my passion.

Which of these eight traits, which could lead to the great success of becoming a published author, do you believe is your greatest strength?

RETURN: YA Paranormal Romance

I was running late. But, it was nothing I couldn’t make up with a bit of effort. I shook my head. Confident and happy? I smiled. Increasing my stride, I pushed until the muscles in my legs burned. I kept up the pace even when the hill grew steeper.

Magpie Lane was hardly wider than a ribbon that edged the woods but that didn’t stop traffic using it to get to the motorway quicker. Large trucks and fast cars loved Magpie Lane. They sent vibrations running through me rising from the soles of my trainers. I felt the disturbance in the ground, even before the air pressure tried to knock me off balance. I hunched my shoulders as the cab hauling a container spat stones up at me.

Jogging on the spot, at the entrance to woodland, I ached to leave the road and go inside. My Mum was probably still asleep but I could hear her you-never-know-what might-be-in-there lecture buzzing on repeat inside my head. I should run safe. Not even I would argue that running through the woods on my own was the best definition of safe but I wanted to run-wild and the woodland offered me that. This early, I should be safe from axe murderers or perverts in the trees and besides, I was fast.

I jogged down the slope into the trees. From two paces in, I felt different. Freer. It felt so right. Running in the woods did great things for my style. Avoiding the roots and dodging branches forced my stride longer, I had to step higher. The woodland, The Weald, was only a sliver of ancient woodland that the developers forgot to build on but it felt like it could have been anywhere. Everywhere. At any time. The oaks and beech trees dominated the space and the skinny, silver-birches squeezed up beside them. I laughed. For a second, the woods reminded me of school and I needed to run a lot faster.

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Thursday, 15 April 2010

Eight? I'm nearly at 100!