Written a couple of blogs in the last few weeks, but uploaded none. Assigned them all to the cart of self-sanctified, indistinct ramblings. Again, this is a post that (as I’m writing it), may see the light of day, or it may not.
Great start, eh? I’m not exactly laying a thrilling opener, that will compel you to read on.
I reached a milestone today – 100,000 words written. I suppose it might help to share some thoughts on progress, albeit warily, knowing the damn thing ain’t finished (and may not be).
- In writing this novel, I feel like I’m playing public exhibition chess against several really good players, all at the same time. There’s no clock. There’s no pressure (apart from self-pressure). I could take a week, a month, or even a year to make my move; it’s up to me… but every step of the way, I need to choose the best move, and win the tournament. (Or, at least, lose respectably.)
- I feel like – instead of ticking the box marked “half-marathon” – I mistakenly ticked the box marked ‘Triathlon, yes please!” instead.
- I have inadvertently subscribed to: toomuchoverthinking.com and when I’m not wallowing on that site, push straight over to: youREALLYhavebittenoffmorethanyoucanchew.com
- I’ve set the book in Pennsylvania… when I spent a seven week in the Garden State, next door. What on earth was I thinking? Nothing against Penny, I loved my trips across the border, but now, I’ve only gone and incorporated Maryland, New York State, Virginia, and North Carolina, into the novel. Research, research, research. Now, keep it organic, organic, organic. Now, research, research, research, again. (Have I taken leave of my senses, truly?)
- I want to be a good writer, but what even constitutes a ‘good writer’ in the Horror-Thriller-Psychological-Supernatural-(I dunno!)-folky-mystery genre? “Good sir/madam, what do you desire as your reading delectation on this distinctly salubrious evening?” “Are you partial to a bit of icey cold ghost dread, gratuitous blood-splatter blindness, or maybe a bit of pernicious psychological misdirection?”
(And can I even provide… any of those?)
- IT’S TOO BLOODY HOT IN LONDON TO WRITE.
Still, 100,000 words is exactly that, progress. I’m pleased, but only at the volume of a delicate whisper in a barren desert. Closer to the end, than the beginning, I guess. And, of course, it all started with a dream, one where I awoke and thought: who can possibly solve this?
And then, I remembered. Ahh, there’s a character – who came to me, many years ago – I think could…
Although the book hasn’t remotely followed the course of this dream (thinking I was germinating the seed of a lily, not a Venus flytrap), I’m 100% enforcing the caveats this time: this book will not be released – it will not see the light of day – until it’s the very best I think it can be (as much as my deluded and subjective perception of ‘truly satisfied’ will allow.)
Still, labour of love… and all that jazz. I love writing 😉
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