The rhythm of life has changed considerably since the summer. Going back to formal employment has been invigorating, bringing with it tremendous growth and a brand new landscape filled with exciting new challenges. However, with the fantastic professional move comes a predictable trade-off: time and headspace for writing have become precious.
This is where the train to London comes in, becoming my moving writing sanctuary. My commute has become my me moment, when I enjoy reading alternated with writing, as I work on the third instalment of the Tangram Method series. It’s part of the joy of the journey, a literary bubble amid the hustle.
The paradox I face at the moment is that while the entire story already exists in my mind, a complete blueprint waiting to be built, the book has not yet fully revealed itself to me. Its core personality is beginning to emerge, but it maintains a fascinating, almost defiant degree of mystery, keeping me delightfully on my toes.
The characters were the main inspiration for this new book, and they are gradually taking shape, their stories and motivations solidifying. Despite this, I haven’t quite found their voices yet. They stand on the stage of my imagination, perfectly cast, but their lines are whispered in an indistinct language still, and I am waiting for the clarity to emerge.
The long silence of this blog reflects the intensity of my focus elsewhere, a quiet corner while the internal work of creation takes up my energy. But, there is a deep, quiet joy in witnessing the other side of this journey: seeing my previously published books being chosen by unknown readers, slowly but steadily finding their way onto new shelves. That silent transaction is a profound connection. When this connection takes a tangible shape of a review, that’s when I am sure they exist in the real world.
In a time dominated by the immense noise of constantly scrolling through piles of videos, reels and memes, the simple act of sharing a story feels more vital than ever. I want to transcend the scroll. I want to connect with my readers on a deeper, more meaningful level through the enduring power of narrative. I know this may well be a hopeful or utopian pursue in the age of instagram and tiktok, when so many are satisfied by the fast-paced short visual content that demands very little of your brain to absorb while consumes so much of your time. I resist. I stand in this corner waiting. I stand in hope that more of us will trade the ephemeral flash of a meme for the lasting resonance of a story. Our unique fully formed lived stories. Not those echos of moments, which multiply themselves by almost infinite repetition. How many times have we seen any of these so-called viral memes? Since when being viral became a good thing?
I know I may stand alone. Time will tell.
