Fail Me

It’s interesting writing a book and suddenly deciding that you want to include a character with an accent- and then trying to write their words with that accent. For example in chapter 3 (yes, my dear audience, I am up to chapter 3!) I have written in a young British male. He uses such words as “innerested” and “attenshun”. What's even more interesting is how this book seems to be taking ME on a journey, rather than the other way around. What I mean to say is, I used to look down at writers who wrote blindly and let the ending just "happen". They didn't plan, they didn't organise, they didn't brainstorm everything beforehand... they just started writing. A brilliant example of this is the writers of Lost (the TV show). They keep adding sub-plots in, not knowing how they are going to pull it all together in the end- well, until this series (or so they tell us). Anyway, now I can properly appreciate these writers. I'm experiencing similar things. The story almost has a mind of its own, and even though I have it all planned out (ending and all), it's the little bits in between that are surprising me. The characters are acting differently to how I had imagined they would! I learnt at Uni the other day that this is actually a good thing. They are being unpredictable. It is a sign of good writing. Props to me :)

Evelyn is currently in a state of not knowing what she wants to be. Does she want to be noticed? Does she want to be nonexistent? The confusion is preventing her from excelling. This piece of prose I wrote is quite similar to the emotions that Evelyn is going through (minus the "God component").

Fail Me

Running doesn’t work anymore.

Who am I kidding? It never did.

Human instincts fail me again.

I feel

Helpless.

Hopeless.

Unwanted.

Rejected.

When will I be good enough?

Or is that the point?

Only to one will I ever be.

People will always disappoint you,

But my God, no,

He is steadfast and unfailing.

He will never let me down-

The only one I can trust,

The only one I can count on.

I keep my eyes on watch,

Looking out for Him

As I hide in the cracks in the wall

But I am not invisible- or am I?

I try, but instincts fail me again.