My writing life to date, 40 years of it, has been made of non-fiction: poetry, short-stories, and at least one novel in progress. I suppose it shouldn’t have been a shock. My first published piece of writing was an essay, which was produced in a medical review, and my main other chunk of writing has been for a community newsletter. I’ve had the odd poem published in magazines, and competition anthologies, but when I think about it, most of my body of published work to date is non-fiction.
I was equally perplexed the other month when I found myself writing a semi-romantic short story for a competition entry. I am not a romantic: I don’t read romantic fiction, or watch romantic films. Ask anyone. What’s more, I now have other stories in the same sort of genre queuing up to be written. What in earth is going on?
I suspect part of the reason may be that, having decided to concentrate exclusively on non-fiction for the last few months, my creative brain is demanding some sort of outlet. It’s behaving like a petulant child who’s been told she can’t have pudding!
So it seems that whilst I still control the pen, or in this case the keypad, there’s some part of my brain – a stranger to me- determining the output. This writing lark is definitely a right funny business!
Photograph © Ursula Graham Dreamstime Stock Photos