By midnight last night I had reached 13,000 words on my current project. It is provisionally titled 'Fragments of Horror'. I feel it is ok to say that now, although if anything goes wrong with it between now and the continuance of this, the first draft 'spewing out' stage I shall blame this blog post! When is it ever a safe time to 'talk' about stuff one is writing? Even if something manages publication the author's words can damage the always precarious relationship between herself and the words she has delivered herself through a bloody birth by her own hand. Before that there were the pains of contraction as she wondered when full term would finally allow the first sighting of those head of words. Name/title may have been there all along or may only make itself known once momma has seen the full shape of her offspring. Me, I only ever declare provisional titles. Fragments of Horror was the title scrawled as I first began to spew out what are fragments. Of horror. Of course, now that I'm hopefully about a sixth of the way through this delicate stage, I realise it can't all be horror. There has to be something a bit lighter. No. Not sketches, but the odd bit of commentary that serves as the equivalent of a bench overlooking the cool gardens in the corridors of the asylum. One may wonder what sort of horror I am writing that can only be spewed in fragments. It's back to 'Joan's Book'. Instead of trying, as I so disastrously did in 2008, to piece together a life into a whole narrative, I have embraced the fragments. Fragments of story. Fragments of my understanding at various ages. Fragments of a life, from which the whole life can be more meaningfully and perhaps more realistically gleaned.


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