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I got up this morning – bleary eyed – after a late night with friends at ours. We’d played Singstar (oh my poor neighbours), 500 and Visualeyes and it is possible that the Kahlua flowed a little too freely.

Falling into the black leather computer chair, before even putting on the kettle or cleaning the kitchen this morning, I checked this blog. Sonia (whose been known to tell a tale or two in her time) had commented overnight and my Entrecard widget was now showing Ken Armstong’s Writing Stuff.

I don’t know much about young Ken. He’s a playwright. He lives in Ireland. He’s close to my age. He tells a good story. I like him.

Yes there’s definitely a touch of the Blarney about him.

Today he writes about how he “enhances” his stories to tell a tale. How he weaves facts from different events into a story.

Immediately I was inspired to try it out. I write for a living. How hard can it be?

Um.

Perhaps I am more literal than literary.

The interesting thing about Ken’s post today is that by “enhancing” his story he arrives closer to the truth than the bare facts would allow.

And that is the magic of fiction.

When we read a novel, short story or play, we are taken not only to a new place, a new situation, but we experience new emotions. You can’t tell someone to “feel sad now – this is the sad bit”. It has to be contained within the writing to take you to that place within yourself… to make you reach for that tissue box.

Having read Ken’s analysis I find myself thinking that writing a story is much like creating a soup. A little bit of this, a little bit of that… the whole greater than the sum of it’s parts. From that boiled and bubbled cauldron comes a little bit of magic.

Which reminds me – I’d really better be getting on with cleaning the kitchen.