young writer is to write every day. I have always believed one should wait for an image or memory to kickstart the process. The image could be obscure — like, say, the collapsed half of an iron gate, and you squeeze through the gap, and walk down an overgrown garden to a dilapidated bungalow. One does not know why the image is pressing upon your memory. And yet, for days on end, you can't shake it off.
You notice the dark, crumbly soil, moist after rain, and then you notice the feet walking upon them, wearing green and white canvas plimsolls. It is the plimsolls that stop me from procrastinating. I take out a notebook and start to write. I recognise the cautious, unsteady gait. It is me at the age of 4. I have to start writing to know where I am going. And a short story begins — one which, perhaps, could turn into a chapter for a novel. But for now, I must follow those tiny feet to see what awaits them.
In a novelist or poet's life, months — in many cases, years — go by before a significant image takes hold of his or her mind. And as he or she starts to write, the aperture-setting and focal length of the image shifts, and it becomes clearer and clearer. By the end of a year or two, he or she has a newly minted poem or novel.
Often, the work is not successful, and you keep it aside for a month or two. Then, with the distance of time, you start on the second draft. With a novel, it could take up to a year. With a long poem or story, a couple of months.
This second draft is the most enjoyable part of the process.