It’s been quiet here on The Open Book. I could say I was on a well-earned and well-enjoyed holiday in Scotland. I could also claim that I was in Scotland to find inspiration for the novel I still haven’t written yet. Because, of course, the only way you can write a proper novel is by observing everything and everyone. I tried. Want to know whether I found anything worth writing down? Read on!
One way to write a novel would be simply to write down everything chronologically, in an interesting or amusing way, so people would love to read it. It could work, I think, but somehow I don’t think it would be that exciting. (Some parts, such as the horrid overnight ferry trip, during which the weather was stormy and I spent the entire night throwing up, should best left unsaid, too.) So let’s stick to the interesting bits – not the bits of undigested food sticking to the wall.
The first terribly interesting thing was Clava Cairns, which is a prehistoric site near Inverness. On it, there are several cairns, which are circular chamber tombs made out of stones, and it is suggested they were built approximately five-thousand years ago. Now, my desperate-to-write-a-novel part of my brain told me, we should definitely be able to come up with a story about these, shouldn’t we? I told her that yes, we (adding the plural form here suggests a hint of madness, for aren’t all writers mad?) definitely should. But we should wait, I added. We would also go to Culloden, which is the site of decisive battle between the Jacobites and the British in 1745. I told my brain that combining these two might be cool. Yes! she feverishly prattled on, I have a plan! We could write about a woman who, drawn by the magical atmosphere created by these stones, travels from her own time, 1945, to Inverness in 1743, right before the battle of Culloden. There she would fall in love with a handsome Highlander, and she’d find out her real-time husband was in fact a descendent of a horrible person who tortured her now-boyfriend. It would be a bestseller! While her enthusiasm was endearing, I had to tell her that, unfortunately, this idea already existed. I returned to enjoying my holiday.
We also went to Loch Ness, which is one of the most famous lakes in the world. It’s very, very beautiful, and it might house the mythical Loch Ness Monster, whose murky history traces back to the sixth century. According to legend, an Irish monk saw a ‘water beast’ emerging from the water. Using the holy power of god, he made it go away. Apparently it’s still there. It’s supposed to be either a dinosaur, or an undiscovered large reptile, or … Elke, Elke! my brain interrupted, wouldn’t it be great to write a novel about it, rather than copy whatever wikipedia says about Nessie? Well, I told her, it might be interesting, yes. It definitely would, my brain squeaked, so we should! Here’s an idea: what if, in our novel, we write about this famous professor, who discovers the monster, and realises she can harvest its DNA. Go on, I urged my brain, for she might be on to something. Ok, yes, what if she harvests its DNA, and then realises she can revive all sorts of dinosaurs? And then she can clone them, and make them grow, and turn them into an amusement park filled with dinosaurs? I really think we’re on to something here! I think so, too, I sighed, and patted myself on the head (another symptom of madness, I’m afraid). However, a different but far too similar version of your brilliant idea was turned into a bestselling book and blockbuster movie years ago. Back to enjoying the lake, then. Actually, I realised, not thinking about writing novels made me feel much more relaxed.
Let’s try again. We made sure not to miss the Highland Games, which really was one of the best things I’ve ever witnessed. There’s hundreds of bagpipers, there’s Highland Dancing, there’s running events, there’s lots of food and drinks, and there’s strong men throwing weights in the air, hurling heavy objects as far away as possible, and running around with huge wooden poles which they have to flip. Why, you may wonder? I really don’t know.It is similar to the Olympic Games (in fact, the Olympic Games were based partly on the Highland Games), but infinitely more fun. I was sure there was a literary gem there somewhere. Elke! my brain soon started screaming, I have an idea! Oh really, do you? I asked her wearily, for I had noticed that that part of my brain was being neither original nor helpful. Yes! Here’s one! What if we write a story about these Games, but we make it more gruesome? People love that! You’re right, I conceded, people do love that. Well, we could write something like how young people would have to participate in the games together, and they would have to throw these weights, or poles, or these dancing people, against their opponents, and then they would have to kill them! And the last one alive wins! Right, I said. Madness had definitely overtaken my brain, for yet again, it came up with a very famous book series. Really, I felt useless. Instead, I cheered on the pole-carrying men and ate some more fish and chips.
We saw quite a bit of Scotland. We went on a tour through both a whisky and a gin distillery (writers love their booze, don’t they?), we entered a couple of old castles (ghosts are always interesting, aren’t they?), we toured the Trossachs, an area of such beauty it literally took my breath away (writers have written about how they are inspired by nature before, haven’t they?), and we we simply drove around a lot (everyone loves a good road trip novel, don’t we?). We even arrived at a place which might as well be the end of the world, with its rough seas and wild nature.
We also briefly stayed in Liverpool, where I studied years and years ago. We visited an old friend of mine, and I made sure to show my boyfriend all the places I once loved (and found I still love). But try as I might, no great novel popped up in that part of my brain that’s obsessed with writing a novel, not even in that part of the world I consider my true home. See how she’s been quiet for a couple of paragraphs? That’s because, somehow, we realised it wasn’t worth it. I decided that I might as well look around and realise that I had had a pretty rough year, and that I could finally relax.
So I did. I took a deep breath, I drank another cocktail, and read another great novel which was not written by me. We walked and drove around a bit more, and told each other that it truly was a great holiday. I might eventually look back on our three weeks in Scotland and conclude that I could still include it in my upcoming memoir, which, I had just decided, might be fun to write…
Oh, please don’t, my exasparated obsessive part of my brain exlaimed, you know that’s been done before. Just sit back and enjoy.
Where did you go this Summer? Have you ever thought of yourself as the next big thing in the literary world? Which part of your life would you novelise? Please let me know in the comments! Also, don’t forget to follow me for more bookish posts!
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