Slow progress

Having inserted new scenes into my work-in-progress, I'm back to the beaten path this week, and more traditional editing.  It's difficult, as I feel that I've lost the thread of the story to some extent.  The task looks Herculean from this angle - how many edits will it need? I read somewhere to think of this as the structural rewrite, though, so I'm trying not to become too fixated this time on my language, or cutting too much out.

I'm afraid there'll be a visible join, though. Just as a lizard can regrow it's tail, but it's never such a good fit, I wonder if the additional scenes will appear to be slightly wonky. I suppose, what I'm learning for next time (and I mean, the next novel, not the next edit) is that I might need to have a stronger plot before I start. I've already learnt such a lot about creating more conflict and not being too kind to the character you cherish.  Applying this knowledge half-way through feels like patching up, but next time, I'll know how to start more strongly.

I'm feeling invigorating by this attitude of being on a journey, and only near the start of it.  It's making me less critical of myself, and, for the moment, less anxious that this project should succeed in the way I did.  A little success would do me proud, for now;  I can see that I have so much to learn, and that practising will improve my abilities, so if it takes five or six books before I taste the sort of success I'd like, then so be it. I'll just need to stock up on patience and some self-belief.

Who am I kidding? Course I want success with this.  So much love and work is going into it.  But I can see the big picture, at least, and see that it is only a start.

So, back to the computer screen, and trying to hide the seams of the story.

Upheaval

It seems strange to have two such conflicting emotions over the same thing. Work has been increasingly stressful and unsatisfying this year, to the point that now I am glad to have a new job to go to, as otherwise I might have had to jump from a tall building. I am becoming excited at the prospect of my new job, and am really relishing the idea of it. But this is my penultimate week; it's amazing how swiftly the time unspools when you work part-time.  I've already finished the week, so I have one week left.  And I work two days a week, so I only really have two days left. It hit me today, as I drove away, just how soon this part of my life will be over.  Eleven years; change of scene. Clearly I've been a little lax about keeping the pace of my life going - how stale, eleven years in one place! But seriously, it will be a wrench, for sentimental reasons, at least.  I can't quite believe it, yet. 
I'm sure I shall cry when it is time to say goodbye; and at home, I'm counting off the days, eager. The contradictions of human nature...

Smiling all day long

It is a few months now since I submitted my ghost story to the Writing Magazine competition, and it was returned.  I knew it hadn't won, and was frustrated to have no feedback, but when I bought my August copy of the mag, the winning story was in there.  I flicked straight to it, keen to see what story had won. And there was my name, in the 'shortlisted' section! I am still fizzing with excitement about it, and so delighted to have the broad feedback that at least I'm on the right lines with my writing.
I might even try another competition when my current rewrite is done.

Wish you were here?

It used to be, when Steve was away with work or with SARAID (the urban search and rescue team he is part of), the time would hang heavy.  I still don't like it when he's away at night - for some reason, I feel sure that the house would choose to burn down when he's not here, just to test my efficiency at rescuing three small children when I only have two hands.
But I've learnt to really value the times  I get to myself, too.  For a start, I can tidy.  It might be rudimentary, and mostly involve throwing his things into his wardrobe and closing the door, but it makes a huge difference! And it's such fun when he gets home and opens the door to an avalanche.  There would be laughs all around, if only he'd find a sense of humour about it. Then, I get the evening to myself. Evenings are so short, anyway, once the children are all in bed, and lunches packed, and bags prepared for tomorrow, and a load of washing in (in case tomorrow is dry)...and I'm a morning person, so it's not the best time of day.
It's still my own time though.  It's lovely to be able to be selfish, and not need to talk to him about his day, or have to share his tv habits.  Apparently it's quite antisocial when I disappear into the study all evening, every evening, so I have to make a show.
So, when he's away, I get to choose - control of the remote for once, or immerse myself in my writing for the whole evening, every evening.
The only problem is, if I'm writing, I often stay up ridiculously late, unable to type that final full stop.  And then I miss Steve, because there's only one responsible adult to wake everyone up the next morning, and she's half asleep...

Writing Workshop

Ste had all three children for three hours on Saturday so I could go to a very local workshop.  I'm not sure if he was trying to ensure that his Father's Day performance management review went well....certainly the children were all still smiling and quite happily wound up when I got home.

The workshop itself was great;  there were only half a dozen people - a good number for actually having a discussion - and it is so inspiring to talk to like-minded people, even though we were all approaching writing from wildly different directions.  Each person had a different preferred genre, even.  It is very difficult in such a short session to judge who has genuine talent.  I found myself savouring the day, but also viewing each person as a potential competitor.  I hadn't expected to feel like that;  I'm not a competitive person, usually. 

The lady who organised it all is planning on starting something more regular - perhaps even a writing group, in my home town - so I will get the chance to see if they're all they're cracked up to be. There was certainly a lot of 'being nice' to everyone on Saturday, so that it became difficult to discern what was sincere;  and one older man who was far more critical.  A writing group would be an interesting experience, I think, but I'm unsure yet how valuable it would be.

Rambling Musings and Musing Ramblings

The reports are done (for now) and I spent a fruitless half hour writing today.  I had promised myself a half hour, and a half hour I did, but I was bored of the piece I was on, and racing to get to the next part, which doesn't bode well. Yet I'm not sure it will work without a bridge from one scene to another;  in fact, it feels as though it lacks a scene altogether, but to put a scene in feels like filling....

I felt quite reluctant and unhappy, which is most unusual.  Early on, as I slogged through the first draft,  I read an inspiring article in Writers' Forum magazine, which tackled this phenomenon.  It suggested that if things were difficult and slow, you should take a step back because maybe subconsciously you were recognising that there was a fatal flaw here, or something that doesn't belong.  So tomorrow I will try to do just that, and see what it is that is jamming the process and how to smooth over it. If it continues to jam, I shall skip it altogether, I think, and fix it for the third draft, rather than waste lots of time now, without really knowing what to do. 

I'm pleased, on the whole, though;  I think my writing is improving.  It may have swayed too far at the moment;  all advice is being adhered to to the nth degree, which is amateurish in itself;  but I feel as though I'm a more thoughtful writer, more aware of how to improve and more able to recognise my own flaws.  I used to feel a bit snobbish about writers who went on courses - the purist in me felt it was cheating, somehow - but that was before I'd had a serious go at scribbling for anyone other than myself.  If I could afford it, I'd be on a course like a shot....

So imagine my delight to see there is a three hour course on writing in my home town this weekend! Wall to wall delight in fact...except, I'm not. Delighted,that is.  I'm trying to find excuses to stay away, that range from what kind of people would be on a course, to how busy I am at home.  The writer in me is rattling the bars, though, demanding that I take myself seriously and start to involve myself with others in the same boat as myself. 

I don't know yet what I will do...but it is important to me, and improving my work is, too;  so it may all come down to whether my lovely husband is prepared to baby-sit.

Self-motivation

I have that common female affliction of having to keep an eye on my weight. Which makes it sound more like an occasional hobby, when in fact it's more obsessive than that.  I have to remind myself of what I really want (to be healthy) several times a day, to counter the desire for instant gratification between the foil layers of a chocolate bar.  I must be doing something right; having shed more weight than I care to admit, I'm now afraid that any slip will be the first step on the path back to Chubbyville.
Every so often I refresh my tactics for keeping myself in check, and my latest is a rip-off list of six 'targets' for my day.  I have a small notebook (it was a freebie with a magazine) and every day I fold the page to leave just a small margin near the ring-binding.  Down the larger side, I write my six targets (eat my five fruit and veg, go for a walk, vacuum the lounge, clean the glass, write one report, etc.,) which all have to be manageable, and then I cut a line under each target.  Then, as I achieve them during the day, I rip each one off and make a little pile, which I throw out at the end of the day.  It keeps my priorities clear in my head, and it helps me to be realistic, too. 
Today I gave myself a writing target - that I must write for half an hour.  I decided I couldn't really afford the whole hour I'd promised myself at the start of the week...but it was addictive. I ended up tearing myself away from the computer well over an hour later, already craving the next time.  My fingers tingled with the joy of having written.  Even though I'll have to force myself back to report-writing tomorrow, nothing compares to how right it felt to write today...it was even better than chocolate.