What I find quite delightful about writing is that it leads me to discoveries that are only possible through that particular portal of my world. I don’t have access to these discoveries through reading, or even through thinking. And believe me, I’ve done lots of both over the years. No, it’s only when I’m writing that I’m truly astounded by what I stumble across.

This has been confirmed yet again in my latest writing project. Because, as I write, I am discovering elements of the narrative that I didn’t know existed. What is even stranger is that sometimes, a previous fabrication – something I have inserted into the narrative for a bit of added interest – will make more sense once I keep going with the story. Later developments, inexplicably, and almost magically align themselves with my previous plot or character creations. Often I find myself putting stuff in that I don’t yet understand. I move forward with faith that if I follow the story, it will somehow take me there. The story, a fluid and separate entity within my mind, is happening on both the conscious and unconscious levels. Often, plausible and exciting developments in the narrative have come to me while I am sleeping. Or else I wake in the middle of the night and start thinking about the story. Maybe because I am in that drowsy state between wakefulness and sleep, my mind is more free to explore possibilities that might be more reined in during the more alert times of my day.

So in short, I cannot conceive of a writing project that is conceptualised exclusively in thought, though I accept there are some who work this way. The thinking conceptualisation is possible, but for me, tends to yield much shallower products.

Writing your way through a narrative is like going on an adventure with no defined destination. You just have to see where the story takes you. Along the way, you encounter the unexpected, and at each turn, you deal with it as best you can, using the tools and implements you found along the way, and that you saw fit to pick up and stuff in your rucksack.

Like those fairy tales I read as a kid, where the protagonist meets a wise elder who bestows upon them a range of objects to carry on the adventure, but whose use is still not understood or revealed, the writer’s journey is an act of faith. The special objects always have a particular significance, for just at the right moment – often a moment of high drama, danger, or certain annihilation, the faculties of the object are revealed, allowing the protagonist to confront the challenge and keep advancing towards the final destination.

So it is with writing. There is serendipity and synchronicity, and to be immersed and in flow within the process is highly satisfying. Never mind the fear.