I’ve just been pickling eggs. No, stick with me. I don’t often pickle things, and when I do it’s usually cabbage-based, but a passing comment from a bloke in a pub who extolled You aint lived until you’ve ‘ad a pickled egg encouraged me to cast aside my usual underused gastronomic library and Do A Pickled Delia. Plopping them one by one into the vinegar was quite a rewarding experience. Firstly, there was the aroma. Nothing smells like egg. No, not even that. Only egg. Secondly, there was the faux-erotic feeling of the peel: still warm and plump but the damned shell stuck to everything in sight. Thirdly – and this is the best bit – dropping them with a plosh, followed by a slightly off-kilter bounce into the vinegar and watching them drop, float and turn slightly until they found their balance. Most rewarding. All very much like writing a successful short story or novel, I’d say.
Oh? You disagree? Fair doos. But look at it this way. That aroma. Nothing else smells like that aroma – so for aroma think Idea. Your best idea yet for a story. And this time, it’s unique. Secondly, the feeling you have when you begin to write; when you know that this time you’re in with a chance – a smooth, confident feeling as you peel away all your bad habits of misspelt words and sentences that in previous works would have been hung drawn and quartered by the Grammarfinder General. Then the next bit, dropping your words onto the page, to watch them – with the help of copy, paste and move – traverse the digital page until they find their right order and settle themselves down, only to stare back at you from most delicious structure a sentence could ever be in, culminating in block after block of compelling paragraphs anyone anywhere would want to read.
Or maybe your story will look like eyes in a jar: not what you expected. Somehow different to your intention. That’s not a bad thing. Go with it and see where it takes you.